Winner Takes All
by absolute power
Summary: Arthur is addicted to the high life- he's the youngest son of a ridiculously wealthy family, and is one of the world's top models to boot. But when he meets a young, mysterious American while on holiday, everything begins to change.
1. Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

I am made of fail. I should be updating the others but no, I just had to get inspired by copious amounts of Lady Gaga and Adam Lambert. XD For once, this isn't a kink meme fill or a fill for a request, so I'm hoping it's well-received. XD Please please please leave a review and tell me what you think!

I need to put a disclaimer for the entire fic: I don't own Hetalia, the Venetian, Macau, or any of the places mentioned in this chapter and probably in the next ones too. The descriptions of Macau are all true except for the airport because I've never been there. However the beachfront, the casino exteriors, and all the descriptions of the Venetian are written down from experience, so it's as true as far as I can remember. Peaches is really playing, and Zaia is still showing at the Venetian. I did research on Princeton and MIT for real courses. Later chapters will have plots & strategies that I myself cannot implement, but they are heavily researched and I'll be portraying their application as accurately as possible.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland leaned back in his seat, heaving a sigh as the man in front of him rattled off places to go for their monthly excursion. As usual they had left the planning late, and though it didn't really pose a problem for them, Arthur hated to procrastinate.

"There's the AirCruise," Francis Bonnefoy said, waving a hand in the vague shape of a kite before bringing his wineglass to his lips. He smoothed a hand over his elaborate blue crushed velvet shirt- casual wear, lovingly created for him by his mother, who owned one of the world's most renowned designer brands. Arthur personally thought it was the tackiest thing he had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

"It isn't open to the public, is it?" Arthur's finger twirled lazily around the rim of his glass of water- Francis had wanted him sober for the discussion, much to Arthur's dismay- as he rested his chin on his hand. "I hate to mingle with the masses."

"It's quite a thrill," Francis laughed, and Arthur's lip curled in a sneer. "But no, at the moment it is not. It goes from London to New York in 37 hours. Long, but the facilities are passable."

"By whose standards?" Arthur wondered aloud, then shook his head. "Knowing the way these people price things, it would cost a few grand each. Perhaps it would be measured in millions. No, thank you."

Francis threw a couple of their notes in the air, miming throwing bills. "When has the cost ever stopped us?"

Arthur and Francis had been best friends since childhood, although "best friends" was a term loosely applied- "rivals" would have suited them much better. Francis had been about six years old, and Arthur just a toddler, when the Kirkland family had become acquainted with the Bonnefoys, whose designer brand had taken the whole of Europe by storm. The Kirklands were an old, wealthy family in the business of manufacturing machinery and equipment, and had recently branched into toys. They had contracted the Bonnefoys as clothes designers for their more upscale dolls and plush toys. Arthur had been the recipient of their very first test- a plush unicorn with a silk mane, luxurious white coat, and a dark green, ruffled shirt. Arthur had thought the clothing hideous, and had chucked it straight at young Francis' face as soon as he figured out how to remove it. It had been the beginning of a more than twenty-year friendship.

It was a testament to how close they were that despite the numerous fights and declarations of hatred, only Francis knew that Arthur still kept the slightly battered unicorn and slept with it every night.

"I don't like this cavalier attitude of yours," Arthur grumbled.

"And you should change that _rudeness_ of yours. It's unbecoming on you." Francis looked him over with a critical eye. "In fact, you should change your whole face. It's an eyesore."

"You bloody frog-!"

"Anyway," the Frenchman said airily, waving aside Arthur's protests. "If you truly don't like the AirCruise, what do you suggest?"

Arthur thought for a moment. "Somewhere hot. The tropics, perhaps. Somewhere in Asia."

"Phuket is always good-"

"Thailand?" Arthur raised a brow at him.

Francis shrugged. "Perhaps not. Singapore?"

"The last time we were in Singapore, you left me alone, without my mobile, in Chinatown while you hopped between bars, picking up girls in Clarke Quay. I had to take a fucking _taxi_."

"Hm." Francis tapped his cheek. "We've never been to the Philippines. I have heard Amanpulo Island is nice enough."

Arthur sighed. "Just because I want the heat does not in any way mean I want to go to the beach."

"Because you simply sit there under the shade, drowning in sunscreen. Fine then. China? Indonesia? Malaysia? Make up your mind."

The British man thought for a moment, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Macau," he said suddenly, drawing a surprised look from his friend.

"Why Macau?"

"Grand hotels, casinos everywhere. It's something you'd like, and I've heard the Venetian is wide enough not to be cramped even when they're full. Give me a minute." Arthur pulled out his mobile and checked something online. "Ooh, Peaches is performing."

"Ah, the electro-pop woman." Francis didn't sound impressed.

"It's _punk_, you daft bastard." Arthur clicked a link with his stylus. "They're also showing something called Zaia. It's by Cirque du Soleil."

Francis smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere."

* * *

Three days later they were touching down at the Macau International Airport in the Kirkland's private jet, going through immigration away from the chaos of the main floor, by virtue of being too rich and famous to ever not cause a scene. One of the personnel on break had, in fact, jaw-dropped and squealed when she saw them, having just opened her magazine to a magnificent centrefold picture of the two friends.

"You're an excellent model for our pieces," Francis commented as they sat in the hired limousine, being taken to the Venetian resort. "Pity about those eyebrows, though. They're terrible."

"Shut up. I quite like them," Arthur said stiffly, and Francis made a pained noise.

The limousine was driving along the beachfront, and Arthur took his time to look around. It was a pretty place- all green and quiet, though they had been unlucky with the weather and the sea was a disconcerting greyish colour. Despite the peacefulness of the scenery, Arthur had spotted more than five casinos on his side of the road, and had no doubt that once night came the place would be bursting with life.

He pressed a button beside him and spoke into the microphone. "Richard," he called to the driver. "Could you drop us off at a side entrance, if any? I don't really want to go through any crowds."

"Of course, Master Kirkland."

They pulled into a large parking lot, with hotel buses dropping off guests beside them. The two friends stepped out of the car when Richard opened the door for them. The Venetian from this angle looked tall and modern, with many glass windows and very little decoration.

"What do you think?" Arthur asked Francis as they waited for Richard to bring out their bags from the trunk.

Francis sniffed. "It doesn't look like much. I hope the interior is better than this."

"It had better be, for the price. But to be fair, it's a side entrance."

They strode to the entrance, Richard following behind them, Arthur nodding curtly to the bellboy to take their bags from their chauffeur. The small lobby was moderately crowded, but the slack-jawed stares they received from the other guests ensured a clear path to the reception desk.

"Francis Bonnefoy," the Frenchman said disinterestedly, checking his nails. "I assume the room is already prepared? I paid extra for that."

"Of course, sir." To her credit, the receptionist acted completely normal, and was quick and efficient with her work. She brought up the details of their reservation in less than a second, surprising considering that all of the 3000 suites were booked. "One Royale suite, is that correct, sir?"

"One?" Arthur hissed, but Francis didn't look fazed. "This is the _last_ time I'm letting you make the reservations, you filthy pervert."

Francis ignored him in favour of sending a smile and a wink at the receptionist. She blushed brilliantly as she handed over their keys, telling them that another hotel employee would be with them shortly to escort them to their room.

Arthur and Francis exited the lobby and climbed the stairs leading to the main body of the hotel, barely sparing a glance at the gawking rich tourists and hotel staff. When they reached the top of the stairs, they stopped, gazing around at the sheer opulence.

The long, wide corridor was painted and tiled in refreshing creams and red-browns, light green accents subtly emphasizing the best areas. Ornate gold carvings decorated the place, strategically set to catch the eye. The fresco on the ceiling was tasteful and elegant, and expensive designer shops lined the whole corridor.

"What do you think now?" Arthur asked, smirking.

Francis broke into a wide grin. "It feels just like home."

* * *

Alfred F. Jones was having the time of his life.

He and his friends had just checked into the Venetian, and it was the grandest place he had ever seen. He could only _dream_ about riches like this, and to be a guest at the megaresort was simultaneously exhilarating and humbling. They had just seen a pair of VIPs waltz into the lobby- Elizaveta had said that they were Europe's top male models, and one was the sole heir of Bonnefoy Fashion. Even Alfred, who never really bothered with things outside of America, recognised their faces, though he didn't know their names.

Alfred flopped onto the bed of the Bella suite that they had booked, stretching his arms out and yelling out his excitement. Elizaveta Hedervary looked fondly at him bouncing around in excitement, but scowled when her long-time rival, Gilbert Beilschmidt, flopped onto the other bed in a graceless heap.

"Gilbert-san," Kiku Honda chided softly from where he had seated himself on top of a suitcase. "Be more polite in the presence of Elizaveta-san!"

"Yeah, Gilbo, your flab's showing," Alfred said, laughing.

Gilbert hastily sat up and pulled down his shirt. "It's _not_ flab!" he said indignantly. "They're abs. You're all just jealous of my awesome body."

The four friends were top students from America, although Alfred was the only real American there. Kiku was his schoolmate at MIT, transferred from the Tokyo Institute of Technology when his parents decided to migrate. Elizaveta and Gilbert were from Princeton, both international students from Hungary and Germany, respectively (although Gilbert insisted that he was Prussian). Elizaveta majored in computational biology, Gilbert in materials engineering, and Kiku was a genius with any sort of physics. Alfred himself was immensely proud of his course- aerospace engineering- and considered everyone else's to be a waste of time.

"We're here for four days," Elizaveta said, clasping her hands together and grinning widely. "So we have a lot of things we can do. I don't want to hit the casino tonight; this hotel's too nice to not explore. We'll start tomorrow instead, around nine or ten, then we'll work our way till morning." She gave a pleased little squeal, and bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Aw, man, what're we gonna do until then?" Gilbert groaned, stretching out and yawning.

"Shopping, of course!"

* * *

It was only after two and a half hours of straight shopping that Alfred and Kiku were finally able to escape, leaving the other two when they had been distracted by a particularly vicious argument. The Grand Canal was awesome, Alfred had to admit, being a replica of a Venice canal, complete with painted blue sky and gondola rides. But there was only so much shopping a guy could take, especially when Elizaveta and Gilbert were having one of their infamous spats.

Kiku had retired to their room, but Alfred had gone up to the recreation floor, trying to relax after a tiring day. The sun was still out, but he knew that it would begin to set soon, so he had brought out his towel and trunks to make use of the multiple pools the hotel had. Curiously enough, there weren't very many people in them- in fact, only the one with the Jacuzzi was being used. He dropped his stuff by the heated lap pool, and dove right in.

Swimming wasn't really one of his favourite sports, but he found it relaxing, and soon enough the slow but sure pace he had set was beginning to relieve the stress of the past few days. College had been difficult lately, and his grades were beginning to slip. Even though he knew he should be studying, this vacation was sorely needed.

He broke the surface as he reached the end of his fourth lap, gasping for breath and smiling, before he heard voices wafting in from the Jacuzzi-equipped pool.

"...so we watch Zaia tonight. We should be heading up soon," a distinctively British voice said, haughty and commanding.

The reply was delivered in a light French accent, and Alfred wondered absently who these people could be. "Ah, but the pool is so _relaxing_! Surely we can spare a little more time?"

"If you hadn't reserved the _one_ room, we'd have more time in the bathroom for ourselves, you sick pervert."

"_Non!_" The French man sounded shocked at the accusation. "Not at all, my dear. That was nothing of the sort! After all, I didn't do _this_-"

Alfred heard a girlish shriek, and the sounds of violent splashing and thrashing in the water.

"Don't you dare- you fucking frog! Don't _touch_ me! Get your disgusting hands off-!"

Alfred heaved himself out of the pool and all but ran to the source of the commotion, stopping dead at the sight of a slim blond struggling furiously against a taller and obviously stronger man. Alfred snapped, reaching in and hauling the shorter blond from the pool and out of the Frenchman's grasp, running to the other end of the lap pool.

"Are you alright?" he asked the man when he set him down, not even sparing him a glance. He was too busy watching the French guy as he got out of the pool and leaned against a post, wary of a sudden attack.

"You bloody git, who the hell you think you are? What the fuck do you want with me?" An angry voice replied, and Alfred turned, startled, to meet a pair of stunning emerald eyes. His jaw dropped in shock.

It was one of the VIPs from earlier, one of Europe's top models if Elizaveta was right. He brought his gaze up and down the man, marvelling at how he was meeting an actual _supermodel_. He could hardly believe what he was seeing- the man before him _screamed_ celebrity, with his glittering eyes, pouty lips, and such a slim figure-

He was snapped out of his star struck thoughts by a surprisingly strong slap on the cheek. "Just let me the fuck go, you wanker, or I'll call my security on you!"

Belatedly Alfred realised that he still had a solid grip on the other man's arm, and he released him, mumbling an apology. It would probably bruise in the morning; he wasn't known for his strength control. "I'm sorry, but he was trying to- to..."

The model sighed, glancing over at where the other one was still leaning against the post. "Francis always does that. Fucking pervert, that one, but I've known him forever and he wouldn't do anything more. Bloody git didn't even follow us. Bet you could have been a rapist and he wouldn't have batted an eye." At the shocked expression on Alfred's face, he sighed. "No, he's not that evil. I hope."

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to help." Alfred was more humiliated than he'd ever been in his life.

The model sighed again. "I know. You're an idiot for it but... thank you. It's nice to know your intentions were honourable." There was a bright blush on his cheeks, as if he were embarrassed by what he said, and Alfred was entranced. When he started to walk away, the college student held him back with a light hand on his shoulder.

"Wait. What's your name, please?"

He turned, surprised. "You don't know me?"

Feeling even more mortified, Alfred began to babble. "Sorry, I don't, but I know you're a model and I've seen you on covers-"

The other man cut him off. "It's Arthur. Arthur Kirkland." But he offered a small smile as he said so, before he turned away to join his companion, who must have been Francis Bonnefoy.

Alfred watched Arthur go, still reeling from the fact that he had just talked to a major celebrity- _saved_ him, even if the threat was completely harmless and kind of stupid- and had actually gotten a personal thank you. He turned back to get his things from the side of the pool, a giddy smile on his face.

_Arthur Kirkland_. He'd never forget that name.


	2. Starstruck

Woo, so I'm back with a new chapter of Winner Takes All. I'm really shocked and pleased by how well-received this fic was- thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, faved and alerted. :D It really means a lot to me!

Alright so **disclaimer for this chapter**: I do not own Hetalia, the Venetian, Zaia, or any brands used. The layout of the Venetian has been written to the best of my ability from memory, and all the things I mentioned here are located somewhere in it. I can't vouch for the accuracy of the interior of the casino because I have never been inside it (although it does exist).

* * *

The silence that night was surprisingly comfortable, considering that Arthur and Francis had decided to share the king-sized bed; neither of them had wanted to stay on the sofa. The quiet was a rare blessing, relaxing and companionable, and Arthur felt himself drifting off to sleep when he felt a warm hand grip his.

"What did you think of today?" Francis asked, rolling over to face Arthur.

"Zaia was okay. The hotel is passably comfortable, and there are considerably less people gawking at us here than in other places," Arthur replied sleepily, annoyed at the interruption. "Aside from the incident in the pool, today was... good enough."

Francis laughed. "Oh, you had fun with your little hero?"

"Shut it." Arthur closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than for the conversation to be over. Within a few seconds he was fast asleep, clutching his ancient unicorn plush, lovingly repaired over and over again by his own hands, safely against his cheek.

Francis pulled him closer and sighed, resting Arthur's forehead against his chest. It was the stolen moments like these that he cherished the most, when he could pretend they were as close as they had been as children, not divided by family interests or their modelling careers or their differing views on life. In the quiet of the night before he slept, he could pretend that they were as they had once been: innocent, childish, and trusting.

He convinced himself that was the only reason as he drew even closer to the sleeping Arthur and closed his eyes.

* * *

The Grand Canal was quite something, Arthur had to admit as he strolled down the little street, painted blue skies above him and the sounds of singing gondoliers echoing through the building. A replica of an actual Venetian canal inside a hotel, the Grand Canal was lined with expensive shops and restaurants, and the number of people walking the street was staggering. Thankfully Arthur was given a wide berth as he went, though his name was shouted several times, with accompanying camera flashes. Arthur sighed; when would these people ever learn that he didn't give smiles for free? It was a living.

Francis was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur was getting extremely irritated. They had parted ways earlier, but it was nearing nine in the evening and they still hadn't eaten. Arthur's stomach growled loudly, and he glared at a post as he passed it, as if somehow it were to blame for all his trouble. In fact he would very much like to wring a certain Frenchman's neck for making him wait so long.

He pulled out his mobile for the umpteenth time and dialled the familial number. He held it to his ear, glaring at a passing family when Francis refused to pick up, until he heard a click and heavy breathing.

"Fuck, Francis, where _are_ you? I thought we were supposed to meet hours ago!"

"Arthur," Francis breathed lowly into his ear, making him shiver. "I'm a little busy."

"Don't give me that!" he snapped. "I've been calling and calling, and you aren't in our room!"

There was a decidedly female giggle from the other end, accompanied by Francis' laugh. "Well that could be because I'm in someone else's." Another giggle, and Arthur wished he could smash the phone against the tiles. He could, in theory, without suffering much, but it would be difficult to explain to the people around them. "And your wallet is with me. I forgot to give it back. So sorry."

_"I loathe you."_

More laughter, and a click as Francis hung up. Arthur couldn't believe it. He had been stood up by his best friend, _again_, and he didn't even have his wallet to pay for dinner. His _room key_ was inside, goddamn it. He shoved a hand into his pocket- there were a few bills, but nowhere near enough to be able to afford anything the hotel had. Perhaps he could persuade the management to put it on the room tab- and make Francis pay for it.

He walked briskly, glaring at anything in his way. He briefly considered hunting the frog down and strangling him until he got his rightful punishment, but then the media would just _love_ that. He could imagine the headlines now: _Model Gone Mad_ or something equally brainless. It was a satisfying thought, but unfortunately he had a reputation to uphold.

Caught up in fantasies of severe violence, he only noticed where he was going when it was too late. He was in an unfamiliar corridor, as bright and ornate as all the others, but empty. He turned back, trying to retrace his steps to the Grand Canal, but he soon found himself hopelessly lost.

"Damn it," he cursed, looking for signboards that would give him a hint as to where he was in the vast hotel. There were none, but the sound of laughter and music drifted from further down. Curiously he strode down the corridor until he came to a wide lobby, a large portion of it blocked off by high wooden dividers. The noise was much louder here, and there was a faint smell of cigarette smoke pervading the air.

_Casino_, he realised, wrinkling his nose. He never could understand why people would gamble away so much of their fortune when it was obviously so biased against them, but he wasn't a stranger to the temptations of risk.

He entered the casino warily, unsure of what to really expect. The interior was stunning, with red velvet carpeting the floor and lining the walls; gold dragon statuettes stood at almost every other table, and waitresses in pretty black dresses were going around bringing refreshments to the people inside. He headed over to a table, empty save for one little Japanese man- hardly older than eighteen, by the looks of it- who was playing what he vaguely recognised to be blackjack.

He reached into his pocket; what did he have to lose?

He set his money down with a certain flourish that he hoped would mask the fact that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. The dealer glanced at him, blushed, and exchanged his dollars for black chips. He pushed half of them into the centre of the table. The Japanese man glanced at him impassively, then turned back as the dealer gave out the cards.

Arthur glanced at his cards- a three and an eight. What was he supposed to reach again? Twenty-one. He decided to give it another shot. A two- thirteen. Another hit- sixteen. He decided not to try again, and the Japanese man beside him reached a twenty, the dealer nineteen. She gave them a new set of cards, and that was when Arthur saw him.

The boy from last night looked older than he had before, and there was an arrogant swagger in his gait when he sauntered over to sit beside Arthur. His bright blue eyes were covered by glasses, and his strikingly blond hair was neatly combed back, except for one stubborn cowlick that stood up comically.

"You're the one from yesterday evening, aren't you?" Arthur asked.

The boy stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then laughed- if Arthur hadn't been as sharp as he prided himself on being, he would have missed the slight strain in his voice. "And you're the model, Arthur Kirkland. Great to see you again. I'm Leonard Andrews."

"Pleasure." Arthur took the hand offered to him and shook it firmly. He noticed a slight Chinese accent in Leonard's voice that hadn't been there the night before, and he wondered how he could have missed it.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about you," Leonard confessed, looking apologetic. "I've just got a friend who's crazy about fashion and stuff. I'm not really into those things."

Arthur was a little piqued at the statement, but the Japanese man beside him surprised him by speaking up suddenly.

"Kirkland-san is most famous for his superb modelling of the Britannia Angel collection by Shu Uemura in 2006. It was very nice," he added, turning to Arthur. "Very sweet."

It was only then that Leonard seemed to feel ready to play, and he got extremely lucky on his first round- an instant blackjack. Arthur decided to take another card with his fifteen, hoping for more luck, but ruefully gave up the last of his chips as he busted, and stood up to leave.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Andrews. And it was a fine game, but I must be going, Mr..."

"Akiyama. Hiroshi Akiyama." The Japanese boy smiled softly at him, and Arthur couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh, don't leave! Here, I'll give you some of mine." Leonard pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and exchanged them for a few purple chips. "And you can call me Leo! And, miss," he said, turning on a passing waitress. "Could we have some drinks over here? Make that three champagnes- if you don't mind, guys?"

Hiroshi and Arthur shook their heads, and Leonard grinned at them. "So, let's play!"

* * *

As it turned out, Leonard had to teach Arthur basic blackjack strategy, as he kept losing all of his money. Leonard was a patient teacher, joking and laughing while guiding him through the simple game of luck, and Arthur marvelled as the other man drew up a small fortune for himself, and helped Arthur to win back some of his money.

"So, Hiro- I can call you Hiro, right?- what do you do, exactly?"

Arthur could tell Hiroshi wasn't quite pleased with the talkative, forceful American (American and _Greek_, Arthur corrected himself, from what they had been told) but the young man did his best to answer politely. "I am a medical student from Tokyo, and I was with here with some friends but I couldn't find them after a while."

"That sucks. But a med student? What a coincidence. I'm a doctor, see?" He flashed a grin at Arthur and gestured to an imaginary stethoscope. "I don't practice, but I work for a pharmaceutical company in Hong Kong. Pretty neat job. And you, Artie- mind if I call you that?- how's your, uh, modelling?"

"S'okay," Arthur said, slurring his words a little and glaring at his empty glass. Hiroshi had _kindly_ asked the waitress to stop refilling his drinks three rounds ago, and Arthur was feeling only slightly tipsy. "Bit busy, but it's okay."

Leonard laughed. "So, what is this Britannia Angel thing that Hiro was raving about?"

Hiroshi reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile phone- a slightly older model of his own, Arthur thought. He wondered how a med student could have afforded that. Hiroshi tapped a few keys. "If you look online there are still some pictures of it. Here's one."

"You're a big fan, for a guy," Leonard commented jokingly, then leaned in for a closer look.

It was one of his best shoots, Arthur had to admit. He had been nineteen years old, nervous and unsure of what to do. He had only been a minor model for the Bonnefoy company before, and he hadn't had any experience outside of it. But the photographer, designers and make-up artists (one of whom he realised belatedly was the international chief artist of the company) had been unexpectedly patient with him, and the photographs had looked stunning.

The picture that Hiroshi had looked up wasn't Arthur's favourite, but it was the most interesting one of the shoot. His skin was pale and blemish-free, and bare shoulders peeked out from the bottom of the frame. Behind him, white, feathery wings flared out, majestic and imposing. His face had been treated as a canvas- it was smooth and pale save for the strokes of baby blue and yellow shadow around his eyes and forehead; and long lashes framed bright green eyes, which were turned directly to the camera.

He looked pretty damn good, if Arthur said so himself.

Leonard whistled. "That's _gay_, Artie. And are those _fake eyelashes_? Please tell me they are."

"It's not gay, it's _androgynous_," Arthur replied irritably. "And I don't believe it's physically possible for lashes to grow that long naturally. For your information I was the first and _only_ successful male model for Shu Uemura and the Britannia Angel collection is a palette that hasn't gone out of style since it first came out."

"It's for _women_. I think my point is made." Leonard gazed at the glowing picture on the mobile phone, his brow furrowed. Arthur wondered what he was thinking.

"How did they manage to hide your eyebrows?" He asked, his tone dead serious.

Arthur would have punched him in the face if his stomach hadn't growled, loudly and suddenly. He turned red. "Oh, excuse me-"

Leonard laughed. "Looks like you need some food in you. Come on, I know a place." He grabbed Arthur's wrist and dragged him up, making his way to the exit of the casino, much to the consternation of his impromptu prisoner.

"You're leaving already?" Hiroshi directed the question to Leonard, seeming surprised.

"Yep, just making sure this guy doesn't keel over or anything." Leonard winked at Arthur. "You model types never eat."

"What the-" Arthur spluttered as he was pulled from the noise of the casino and into a much quieter corridor. He found himself gratefully breathing in the much fresher, but still conditioned air, pulling his wrist from the grasp of the overly-enthusiastic American (American-_Greek_, he corrected himself again; it wasn't polite in this society to forget little details like lineage).

"So, where do you want dinner?" Leonard asked, beaming. "There's this really posh-looking Japanese place, but I assume you've already had that billions of times. But I think I can pay for any special order you might have-"

"This isn't a date, and I can damn well pay for my own dinner," Arthur said shortly. "However as I am a bit strapped for cash at the moment, I'll just wander around until I find something within my-" his lip curled in distaste. "Limited budget."

Leonard stared at him incredulously. "Strapped for cash? But you won a bit earlier!"

"It was won with your money, which I intend to return later tonight. I don't need your charity. I'll use the dollars I started off with, or none at all."

Leonard's face fell, but then he brightened up again. "Well, if you insist... I know just the place."

Arthur found himself caught by the wrist again and practically dragged down a seemingly endless number of corridors, turning and turning until they finally came to a stop before a spacious fast-food establishment with a familiar red and yellow sign.

"McDonald's?" He said in disbelief. "They have one here?"

"It's everywhere." Leonard grinned at him, and Arthur wondered whether the man ever stopped smiling. "Although, this is the classiest one I've ever seen, and believe me, I've been to a _lot_." He escorted Arthur inside, then pulled out his wallet, at which the model glared suspiciously. "Relax, I'm just gonna buy my own stuff. What're you having?"

"I don't know," Arthur said, eyeing the menu doubtfully. "I've never eaten here before."

Leonard froze, his face stuck in an expression of deep horror. "_Never_? You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Honestly, I have never set foot in a McDonald's before tonight."

"Well then, it's my duty to help you!"

After ten minutes of bickering they finally sat down at a table, Arthur with a small box of chicken nuggets and a bottle of water, and Leonard with six cheeseburgers and an upsized Coke.

"That's disgusting, Leo," Arthur commented as he delicately speared a nugget with his fork. "And what are these little packets?"

"Actually, I've never seen them before." Leonard picked one sachet up, reading the label. "Some sort of powder flavouring I think. This one says it's salt and pepper."

"And this one is seaweed, apparently. I think I'll go for the other one." Arthur poured powder onto his food, frowning at the orange colour. "Doesn't quite look like salt and pepper to me."

"Oh come on, it'll be great! McDonald's never makes bad things."

"Of course, the fanatic would say that," Arthur remarked dryly. He noticed that Leonard's Chinese accent was gone- had it even been there before? Perhaps in his still slightly tipsy state he was just imagining things. Deciding not to ponder on it too long he took the fork, still spearing a nugget, and placed it slowly in his mouth. He chewed deliberately, noticing how Leonard was practically bouncing in his seat to hear his opinion, then swallowed and washed it down with water. "It has a strange texture," he pronounced. "Not like chicken, really. The nugget itself is a bit bland, but there _is_ an interesting taste of something, somewhere in it. The powder was excellent flavouring, though I'm sure it isn't all that healthy either."

"So do you like it or not?"

Arthur smiled. "Aside from it feeling akin to swallowing a ball of grease, I rather do."

Leonard whooped with joy, causing the boy at the counter to glance curiously at them. "So, Artie," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper and leaning forward conspiratorially. "How did a model like you end up, uh, strapped for cash anyway?"

"Funny story, that." Arthur sipped delicately at his water, then sighed. "My roommate- you met him last night, sort of- is off having a tryst with some random girl, and he managed to take my wallet and room key with him. Bloody frog's such a pain in the arse."

They both laughed, and talked animatedly as the night progressed. Their conversation became stranger and stranger- ranging from theories about the origin of life to an argument over tea and coffee- and Arthur felt happier than he'd been in a long time. Maybe it was the effect of the tiny amount of alcohol he had had, because he hadn't acted this absurd with anyone except perhaps Francis, years ago, but he suspected it was more the influence of this strange man who seemed to contradict everything he said. A rich man who acted like an utter fool, a doctor who ate fast-food like a starving teenager, with Chinese accent that went on and off- Leonard Andrews was different, and Arthur liked unique things very much.

It was as Arthur had finished his last piece that his mobile phone rang. "Hold on," he said, fishing it out of his pocket. "It's probably the frog." He flipped it open. "Yes, bastard?"

"And a good morning to you. It's one o'clock, where are you?"

Arthur frowned. "Shouldn't you be with your little, ah, partner?"

A sigh was heard from the other end. "You have no idea how she begged me to stay, but I had to decline in favour of graciously making sure you had a place to sleep tonight. So I went up to our room, but alas, I found no Arthur waiting for me outside the door."

Leonard cocked his head to the side. "Is that Francis Bonnefoy?" he asked, but Arthur shushed him hastily.

"Oh, you're with someone?" Francis' voice sounded interested. "Well if that's the case then-"

"Shut up, I'm with a friend. And why the hell would you wait until one in the morning before you actually gave a damn about me, huh? And I wouldn't sit by the door like some princess in distress."

"Uh, Artie, I think you mean damsel-"

"Oh hush, you. Don't interrupt, it's rude. No, Francis, I wasn't talking to you. Alright, I'll be up in a bit." Arthur snapped his mobile shut and gave an apologetic smile to Leonard. "It's been a lovely night, but I have to go, else he might lock me out just for the fun of it."

"Aw. Alright then. Can you find the elevators by yourself?"

Arthur scowled. "Of course I can find the lifts. What do you think I am, an idiot?"

"Maybe," Leonard said teasingly, earning himself a swat on the head. He extended a hand, grasping Arthur's tightly, and shook it. "Wanna meet up again tomorrow?"

"Of course. Not at the casino, though." A frown passed over Leonard's face, but it was gone so quickly that Arthur was sure he imagined it. "Maybe elsewhere- the pools again, perhaps?"

"Swimming date?" Leonard winked. "Awesome. Four PM, so it isn't too hot out?"

"It's not a date!" Arthur protested, but then he sighed and smiled. "The pools at four, tomorrow. It's perfect."

"Great!" Leonard let go of his hand, and Arthur belatedly realised that they had been holding hands for quite a bit longer than normal. "See you around, Artie!"

Arthur turned and walked away to what he hoped was in direction of the lifts. "See you around, Leo," he murmured to himself, smiling a little.

* * *

"What the _fuck _was that, Al?" Gilbert asked, his arms crossed over his chest. "Kiku here says you left at 11:30, with some model chick-"

"Hey, he's not a girl!" Alfred protested, slumping down tiredly onto the sofa.

"Dude, then, whatever."

Elizaveta glared at Gilbert, but then turned venomous eyes to Alfred. "I can't believe you! You know how much income we lost because of you? Not to mention, you went with _Arthur Kirkland_ without bringing us along."

"Relax, didn't I earn you a few thousand dollars tonight? I can't see why leaving early would have made so much of a difference, Susanna."

Elizaveta sniffed. "I'm Tanya today, if you forgot, _Leonard_. And every minute spent in the casino could possibly mean _another_ thousand dollars. Not to mention, you gave Kirkland part of our money for him to use."

Alfred sat up in indignation. "He's gonna pay it back! He just hasn't gotten 'round to it yet."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's what they all say. Gold-diggers, all of them. Although this one's a dude so I guess it works differently."

"Alfred-san," Kiku said calmly, although Alfred could tell he was more than a little annoyed. "I have never seen Leonard Andrews act so out of character before today. Even your first time acting wasn't this bad."

Alfred winced. If Kiku was giving criticism this harsh... "Look, guys, I'm really sorry, but I don't see what the big deal is. I mean, we've got a lot of money, and what does it matter if we blow our cover? What we do is legal."

"Counting cards _is_ technically legal," Gilbert said, serious for once. "It ain't cheating. But this whole operation could stop once we're found out. And there's always that creepy soundproof back room somewhere in the world, with our names on it."

"Not to mention, we're in a foreign country," Elizaveta cut in. "We don't know exactly how the legal system works here, and if there's a problem we can't get out until they want us to get out. We're not in Vegas, honey."

"And Alfred," Kiku's calm voice held a tinge of disappointment, and Alfred cringed. He noticed the dropped honorific, but didn't comment on it. "I thought you had a goal to meet."

Alfred paled. "I-I forgot..."

Elizaveta shook her head sadly. "Matthew needs you, Alfred. Please don't let yourself be blinded by the high life. What we have here is a business, not a pleasure cruise. We're only telling you this for your own good."

"I... yeah. I get it. I'm sorry."

"Anyway, we should sleep. There's no use wasting time talking about the past so much," Elizaveta said, ushering the boys to their beds. Alfred shared one with Gilbert, and Kiku automatically took the sofa. It was an unspoken agreement among the boys that the one girl in the room would take the best bed for herself, and Elizaveta was happy for the consideration they showed. "You should buy a present for Matthew tomorrow, Al."

"Yeah," Alfred muttered, guilt curling in his stomach. "Yeah, I should. He thinks I'm at a math competition."

The guilt only grew as he lay awake an hour later, listening to the soft sounds of Gilbert snoring beside him, only thinking that Arthur still didn't even know who he really was- and probably never would.

* * *

**A/N**: Alright, now I can safely say where I drew my inspiration for this. Aside from Lady Gaga and Adam Lambert, I also got inspired by the book _**Bringing Down the House**_**, by Ben Mezrich**, as you can see from this chapter. Also, another inspiration is **this picture**: http: //imabeautygeek .com /wp-content /uploads /2009/08 which is where I got my Britannia Angel rip-off idea from. Gay, isn't it? XD Also, I hope you're not too put-off by the way I introduced Leonard- you have no idea how hard it was to keep from writing Alfred instead of Leo. Ah yes, a shoutout to **Ellarose C **for helping me with the names- I got Susanna, Hiro, and Leonard from her. Thank you darling. XD


	3. Say You Don't Want It

**A/N:** OMG this is so late. I can't make any excuses for this pitiful posting rate here- let me make it up to you with a finished short fic ;) Anyway, yes, another chapter finally done. The next one is actually being written at the same time so hopefully the update will come sooner. I'll unfortunately be away probably from June 9 to 25, so that'll be more of a gap. :(

**Disclaimer **for this chapter: I do not own the Venetian, Dior or Pfizer. The pool layout is still mapped out from memory- there does exist an extremely cold, you'd-be-crazy-to-go-in pool on the recreation floor of the hotel, so I don't own that either.

Hope you enjoy reading this chapter!

* * *

Arthur was late. With a huff of irritation, he shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun against white clouds, squinting to find Leonard in one of the pools. He located a head of blond hair already disappearing underneath the water, and, smiling, made his way over.

"Leo!" he called out over the water, standing by the edge and placing his hands on his knees, leaning forward. "I apologise for my tardiness, but I was in-"

A hand shot out and grabbed his ankle, dragging him into the pool. With a cry Arthur tumbled in headfirst, inhaling ice-cold water and crashing against a warm, solid chest. Coughing and struggling, he raised his head above the water and glared at Leonard, who was laughing uproariously at his plight.

"Sorry Artie, couldn't resist!" Leonard said mercilessly, grinning down at Arthur. "You look just like a wet bunny."

Arthur huffed, shooting him a dark scowl that would have made lesser men cry. "We b-barely know each other, and already you- you're doing things like this. I-It's like you were raised in a ba-barn," he said scathingly, shivering. "And why the f-fuck did you pick the cold pool?"

"Aw, too cold for you, bunny?" Leonard's Chinese accent was back with a vengeance, Arthur noticed despite the freezing water swirling around his legs and chest. "I find it... _invigorating_." To demonstrate this he let go of Arthur and flipped backwards, treating the model to a gigantic splash of icy water when he came up again, shaking droplets out of his eyes and grinning like an madman.

"F-fuck you! And don't call me that!" Arthur cried out, coughing and sneezing, trying to get the scent of chlorine out of his nose. He felt himself sinking without Leonard's support and struggled to keep his head above the water while trying to warm himself up.

"Hey, Artie, what's the matter?" A strong arm grabbed him and held him up. "Oh God, you can't swim, can you? Shit, I should have known."

Arthur coughed more as he was dragged over to the edge of the pool and lifted up onto the concrete, trembling as the previously warm breeze touched his skin and almost froze him solid. "I can swim perfectly well, idiot," he replied, his stuttering lessened as his teeth stopped chattering. "It was just bloody cold in there, and you caught me by surprise."

Leonard planted his hands on either side of Arthur's thighs and lifted himself up to be eye level with the other man, letting his lower body float in the water. Arthur blushed; they were uncomfortably close now, and he thanked his stars that there was no one around to see them and get the wrong idea.

"Brr!" Leonard said, giving an exaggerated shiver. "It's cold up here in the wind. Alright there, bunny?"

"I told you to stop calling me that!" Arthur scowled. "It's bad enough that Francis calls me _lapin_ all the time, I don't need you doing it as well. What the fuck is it with me and rabbits anyway?"

"Because you're fluffy and cute and easily scared."

"Yes, and rabbits are probably the most perverted animals ever," Arthur said in annoyance, then clapped a hand over his mouth and turned red. "I- I didn't mean what you were thinking! I just wanted to disprove-"

Leonard laughed. "So you say, Artie, so you say." He winked. "Man, I can't believe you just said that. You're a riot."

Arthur huffed. Absently he wondered how Leonard could stay so long in that position, only supported by his arms; he seemed to be freakishly strong, and Arthur's eyes drifted down Leonard's torso, his mind not really registering what he was doing. "_Fluffy and cute_?"

"Well, you're a model, so obviously you're supposed to be cute and stuff. And fluffy because of those things on your forehead."

"My _eyebrows_?" Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, but decided not to argue. He knew it was fighting a losing battle. "And what makes you say I'm easily scared? I could be a secret agent on the side."

"I say it because of this." Leonard surged forward suddenly, almost smacking his forehead into Arthur's, and the other man yelled and scrambled out of the way, scowling when Leonard fell back into the water with the force of his laughs.

"No fair," Arthur said irritably. "Anyone would have avoided that."

"Yeah, yeah," Leonard replied, still grinning. "I know. Doesn't mean it isn't fun to do anyway. Damn, I was really hoping you'd ask that, and you did!" He heaved himself up over the edge of the pool and stood, looking down at Arthur and grabbing two towels from the nearby beach chair. He handed one to Arthur and towelled himself dry, sitting down and sighing.

"Your trunks are dripping wet," Arthur remarked, holding the towel up as if he had no idea what to do with it. "You'll get the chair soggy."

"Eh, what's the big deal? And just take off your shirt already, you're obviously freezing."

"It's your fault you ruined my clothes! And you sound far too eager. I don't take my shirt off for free."

"You're kidding." Leonard looked over at the model still dressed in his sopping wet clothes. "No shit, you're actually _serious_?"

"Leo, I make a living off my appearance. You think if I pranced about half-clothed in public view like the amateur new models, I'd earn extra money?"

"But I thought that was the sort of thing models did. You know, bar hop, pick up attractive strangers, go wild, make some sort of sex scandal, and let the media have at them... Isn't it some sort of publicity stunt?"

"Not all of us do." Arthur sighed. "And well, I find it a reckless waste of time. I don't like bars, I don't pick up strangers, and I certainly don't make scandals. Reputation is everything, Leo. I'm not the only one who carries the name Kirkland, and if I get involved in a mess I'm not going to be the only one suffering the repercussions."

"Wait, what, you're not the only Kirkland?" Leonard's expression was comical in its confusion.

"Obviously I'd have some sort of family, wouldn't I?" Arthur stood up and grabbed his bag from where he had dropped it, heading for the men's changing rooms. "I'll just get changed, then we may talk further."

"Okay, bye!"

As he walked away, Arthur could have sworn he felt eyes watching him leave. He flushed in embarrassment. So much for staying away from attractive strangers. He would just have to keep his distance.

* * *

Alfred watched him go, eyes locked on the sway of Arthur's hips and the way his wet clothes clung to his slender body. He shook his head furiously and groaned, putting his head in his hands. Arthur was a _guy_. He couldn't be crushing on another guy.

_I just haven't gotten over the fact that I'm friends with a supermodel_, he thought to himself. _Yeah, I'm just star struck or something._

But he couldn't stop thinking of how Arthur had been so _obviously_ checking him out earlier in the pool, even if the other didn't seem to notice he was doing it. Poor guy probably would have died of embarrassment if he did. Alfred puffed out his chest in pride. A supermodel thought he was hot! Well _that_ was something to brag about. Elizaveta would be squealing like a lunatic.

Well, Arthur could be gay, but Alfred certainly wasn't. No sir, he was a man through and through, who just happened to have met a really pretty male model with a nice accent. The weird thoughts would go away when they got to know each other better. He comforted himself with this idea as he called over a passing hotel employee, asking for a strawberry smoothie for himself and coffee for Arthur. He figured he'd need a hot drink after that surprise dunk in the cold pool.

Arthur was taking a while. Alfred's thoughts drifted to the argument with his friends the night before, and he frowned guiltily. He hadn't thought about their operation at all when he had brought Arthur to McDonald's, his excitement about his newfound friend overriding all his training. He had Mattie to think about as well; his brother needed him more than anything now. He couldn't let him down.

Groaning, he sank down to lie back in the chair, closing his eyes. He'd have to lie to Arthur again. It was a pity, because he really liked him. For a model, Arthur seemed pretty down-to-earth, and he wasn't one of those paranoid ones who called security on everyone who so much as touched them. And Arthur already seemed to think of him as a friend. _I got myself into a right mess, didn't I? _he thought wryly.

"Oi. Don't fall asleep on me," Arthur's voice drifted from above, and Alfred opened his eyes.

"What took you?" he asked, sitting up and handing him the steaming cup of coffee. He took the smoothie for himself, sipping it with relish.

"They had a hairdryer in the men's room," Arthur said, as if it explained everything. _Well,_ Alfred thought with a grin. _Knowing him, it kind of does._

"Er, thanks for the coffee," he said, staring down at it and taking a small, hesitant sip, then setting the cup down on the side table. "I put my wet clothes on the chair beside me," he said in answer to Alfred's unasked question. "I'm in Dior right now so don't you dare get my outfit dirty this time."

Alfred burst out laughing. "Man, that was so _girly_! And oh, damn, I forgot you don't like coffee. Sorry, you can give it to me if you like-"

"No, it's fine," Arthur said with a little grimace. "I need it anyway." He leaned back against the chair, crossing his legs and looking up at the sky with a sigh. "What were we discussing earlier?"

"Your family."

"Ah. Yes, well, I'm the youngest of three, and I have two first cousins a little older than me, twins from Ireland. One wants nothing to do with us, and hates me in particular. That's Siobhan. The other one is Dylan- he's the one who's played with us since we were children."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like fun. And your brothers?"

"Alastair's the eldest, he's the one inheriting the family business. Callum is in the middle; he owns a hotel in London and is opening up another one somewhere in Cardiff- that's in Wales, in case you didn't know. He wants to start a worldwide hotel line."

"No offense, but you sound like the odd one out. What got you into modelling anyway?" Alfred asked curiously. He could tell Arthur was intelligent and driven- he seemed like he would have done well in any business.

"Oh, there was nothing for me in business," Arthur said airily, but Alfred could sense a hint of disappointment in his tone. "I would have been overshadowed by my brothers if I had gone into that as well. It's the elder Kirklands people remember; the younger you are the more you get patronised. Francis' family had already made me endorse some of their pieces with him, so everything followed from there."

Alfred nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the subject.

"But enough of me- what about you? Do you have any siblings? How did you get to work in Hong Kong?"

_Fuck. _Alfred's eyes widened in panic and he tried to remember Leonard Andrews' profile. "I'm an only child," he said as soon as he got his wits back, the lies slipping easily from his tongue. "I was born in America, and I wanted to practice back in my state but I got a job offer from Pfizer. Eventually I became medical director for my region, but they must have had some sort of shortage of employees here because within a year I was shipped off to their branch in Hong Kong." He grinned at the fake memory. "I wasn't too happy, but it worked out for me eventually. See, two years later and I'm on holiday in this awesome place!" He stretched out on the beach chair as if to prove his point, and glanced at Arthur.

Arthur believed everything. Alfred's heart sank.

"Must be nice to be an only child," Arthur commented. "Alastair and Callum aren't exactly the kindest of people to me, but they are extraordinarily overprotective of their little brother."

"Being solo? It's the best thing in the world!" The image of Matthew flashed in Alfred's mind, but he shoved the thought away. It was getting annoying.

Smiling, Arthur changed the topic to an easier one about their stay in the Venetian, and Alfred found himself going along and nodding at every complaint the model had about the accommodations and amenities, though he himself was overwhelmed by how amazingly _perfect_ everything seemed to be. He hid an amused grin when Arthur remarked that the bed, which had been divinely soft for Alfred, was too firm and too uncomfortable. He found later that they only had two days more to themselves, and with a frown he realised that he would actually _miss_ Arthur when they finally had to part ways.

"Oh bugger it all," Arthur grumbled, glancing at his watch. "Francis wants me in that Japanese restaurant in five minutes. I apologise, Leonard."

"No, no, it's alright." Alfred waved a hand dismissively, even though he couldn't help but feel disappointed that their time would be cut short. "You kept him waiting last night, so you shouldn't do it now."

"Oh! Before I forget-" Arthur folded his clothes neatly and placed them into the bag, then from there he drew a sizeable wad of bills. "This is the money you helped me win last night. I promised I'd return it, so here it is."

Alfred whistled. "Wow, Artie. You really gave it back." He was surprised; no one else he knew would have turned that much money down, even if they were as rich as Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur grinned at him. "Simple honesty is everything."

Alfred felt another stab of guilt at the statement, and opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur had already gotten up, stretching and sighing in pleasure as the muscles relaxed, his shirt riding up a little.

Alfred gulped at the sight. _Still just star struck_, he thought wildly. _It doesn't mean anything_.

"See you tomorrow?" Arthur asked, cocking his head to the side as he retrieved his bag.

"Same time, same place, bunny." Alfred sent him a wink, ducking the expected swipe at his head and grinning as he watched the model huff and turn around to walk back into the hotel. Yes, he would miss this after the end of the holiday.

His mobile phone rang suddenly, and he dived for his bag, digging around the mess inside until his fingers closed around the hard case and he fished it out, flipping it open without glancing at the name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey Leo!" Gilbert's voice, arrogant and smug as ever, floated through the device. "It's getting late and the money ain't gonna wait forever."

Alfred grinned. "Be right there. Hang on to your seat, Erik- Mr. Andrews is back on track."

* * *

**A/N: **And so is this fic. ;) Anyway I really hope you enjoyed reading this little chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it- I'm still not quite confident about my writing so if you see anything you'd like to advise me on, please do so! *glomps everyone who's read this*


	4. Chasing the Sun

**A/N: **OMG another update. I think I'm on a roll. Unfortunately _Glorious _is on a temporary hiatus, so readers of that, I'm so sorry. :( I promise I'll be getting back to it as soon as I can. I just lack a lot of inspiration now.

Advance shoutout to **15animefreak15** for her amazing correspondence, and a random, gigantic thank you to **Apple of Doom**, who reviewed every single one of my Hetalia fics, and every chapter as well! Also thank you to **Ellarose C **who (inadvertently) inspired me to write this chapter in a way. XD Also thank you very, very much to **ElodieJ** for fixing up my French! XD Internet translators are horrible. :(

**Disclaimer for the chapter: **I do not own any of the the brands mentioned here (except, technically, Bonnefoy Fashion), and neither do I own any of the places mentioned. They're all real as long as they are named, by the way. Also, I do not own the MCM in any way- I just played around with the idea a bit.

* * *

Three Weeks Later

_Flash._

"That's lovely, Mr. Kirkland! One more, yes, that's perfect, thanks-"

_Flash._

Arthur sighed, stretching out on his back and draping an arm across the end of the sofa and over his head, letting one leg hook over the top while leaving the other resting on the floor. He smiled up at the camera.

_Flash._

"Very innocent look, Mr. Kirkland, I like that. Could you give us one of your smirks? Wonderful!"

_Flash._

"Perfect, Mr. Kirkland. Could we try the other set of clothes now? And change set, people, change set!"

_What an overly enthusiastic photographer._ Arthur rubbed his eyes tiredly, careful not to smudge his makeup, as he walked over to the rack and picked out a pinstriped dark green dress shirt and black denim trousers. Francis was waiting for him, lounging by the door to the dressing room, looking utterly relaxed. He smoothed a hand through his hair and smirked at his frazzled friend.

"_Mon ami_, you work yourself too hard," he said, examining his fingernails.

"I do not!" Arthur replied irritably, shrugging off his top and putting on the dress shirt. "It just make the most of my time. And stop speaking French; you're in London. It's my territory."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "How many shoots have you done today?"

"Two," Arthur mumbled. "I made them finish quickly."

"How many do you have left?"

"Three. I'll be off to Calvin Klein after this one. The clothes, mind, not the underwear."

"Any interviews?"

"Yes, over dinner tonight at eight-thirty."

Francis put up a finger. "Point one. You actually know your own schedule. You don't have a manager."

"I am my own manager!" Arthur protested, but he was silenced with a glare.

"Point two. This is a _light_ day for you. You must be the busiest model in the world!"

Arthur spluttered indignantly. "Well, there's a reason why I'm also earning the most! I don't see _you_ working hard at your job."

"And thus the difference between us is revealed- you see, that is because I do not consider it a job, _mon ami_," France said delicately, pulling himself off the door jamb and looming over Arthur. "You," he emphasized this with a poke to the chest. "Have been influenced by your family too much. Why, I remember the little boy who begged me to read him the story of Peter Pan over and over again! The boy who had imaginary fairy friends! Ah, you were so cute before."

"Oren _is_ real," Arthur said defiantly, glaring darkly at Francis. "And you can't see him because you're an impure frog."

"Well then, tell your unicorn I said hello." With a swift motion Francis closed the door to the set and stripped Arthur of the shirt he had just put on, despite his loud protests. "Get into your own clothes, we're having lunch."

"Hands off! Bloody hell, Francis, are you out of your _mind?_ I'm still doing a shoot!" Arthur barely managed to stop his overly enthusiastic friend from taking down his trousers. "I can't just up and leave!"

Francis seemed to consider this for a moment, then he threw open the door. Arthur, still shirtless, yelped and hid behind his friend from the curious staff. "I'm afraid, my friends, that today's photo shoot will have to be cut short," Francis said easily, sending a little wink at one of the female employees. "You see, Mr. Kirkland is as thin as a stick-"

"Am not!" Arthur interjected, a bit miffed. Just because he wasn't underwear model material didn't mean he was scrawny.

Francis waved a hand dismissively. "And he is working himself to death, so I'm taking him to eat a proper lunch outside. Goodbye!"

Francis pulled the door shut again, muffling the photographer's protests, and Arthur sighed and dressed himself quickly, deciding not to argue. When Francis was in this mood, he was unstoppable. He reached for his mobile phone and slid it open, dialling his contact in Calvin Klein. "Yes, good afternoon, Annette, I'll be late for our photo shoot I'm afraid. Something unavoidable. Yes, it's Francis, how did you know? Oh, he never told me." Arthur's forehead furrowed. "Yes, both of us. I'm terribly sorry for the trouble. Yes, thank you. Goodbye." He snapped his phone shut and whirled on Francis as they strode out of the building and into the parking lot. "No wonder you're not in Paris."

"_Oui_, I have a shoot here as well," Francis said unconcernedly as his driver opened the door. "My manager is away at the moment but she will phone me later to tell me what it is."

"Calvin Klein, you idiot!" Arthur exploded, hands automatically buckling himself into the seat. "We have the same shoot! And your manager, the nice girl from Seychelles? Away? What _do_ you keep her busy with?"

Francis' grin grew lascivious. "Oh, Veronique- many things, my dear friend. _Many_ things."

"You disgust me."

"It's a hobby of mine."

Francis directed the driver down a busy street, passersby gawking at the black limousine as it drove past. He seemed to know exactly where to go, and Arthur watched the familiar old buildings flash by the windows, wondering where Francis was taking him. He wrinkled his nose as they passed a gaggle of tourists with flashing cameras. "You do know I hate crowds, right?"

"All too well." Francis sighed dramatically. "You are the most horribly anti-social person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing."

"That isn't true," Arthur grumbled. "I have friends."

Francis gave an undignified snort of laughter. "Yes- me, but only because of my endless generosity."

"Oh, this unfortunate soul thanks you for paying the slightest attention to those not blessed with your beauty and absolutely _charming_ purity," Arthur said, scowling.

"So says the repressed virgin. I think we all know who the real pervert between the two of us is."

"Hey!" Arthur protested. "Just because I haven't- I haven't done anything yet, doesn't mean I'm repressed! I just don't feel the need to fling myself at every person I see." He paused for a moment, then his face lit up in a smile as he recalled their holiday in Macau. "Oh, wait, I do have one more friend."

Francis stared at him. "We talk about perverts and your pitiable virginity, and you remember a 'friend' of yours?"

"Shut up and do the world a favour, would you? It just crossed my mind, that's all."

"And who would this be?"

Arthur smiled. "Remember our trip three weeks ago? To Macau? That man who _rescued_ me from your dirty self; Leonard Andrews, he said his name was. It was a good four days with him."

Francis whistled, then looked at Arthur meaningfully. "_Four days_, my friend, I have to say I'm impressed-"

"Oh shut _up_, frog, it wasn't like that!"

"Monsieur Bonnefoy? We are here," the driver announced in a heavy French accent, in English for the benefit of their British passenger.

Arthur drew his lips into a tight line as the door was opened for him, then turned to Francis as they walked inside the restaurant. "Francis, you know I can speak French perfectly well. You can tell Pierre he doesn't have to keep speaking in English if he doesn't want to."

"Nonsense- as you said earlier, we are in your country, so we might as well speak your language." Francis waved a hand in the air to emphasize his words. They were led to a small, round table near the window, bypassing the relatively crowded area in the middle. Francis pulled out Arthur's chair for him, earning himself a disgruntled scowl. "This is the newest French restaurant in your city," he said as he took his own seat.

"I'm surprised you took the time to research this place," Arthur replied, casting a critical eye over the tacky decor. "I do hope the food makes up for the interior, even if it's French."

"Mmm, it is very _nouveau riche_," Francis agreed with a frown, ignoring the slight against his country's cuisine. "And yet it is supposedly more expensive than Le Gavroche."

"Luckily for me, you're paying. No way about it," he added when Francis made to protest. "You dragged me here."

They were given their menus, and Francis raised an eyebrow at the prices. "It _is_ more expensive. No matter, the total amount would barely make a dent in my pocket."

"Ugh, that was classless, Francis. Then again, it _is_ you we're talking about, so that's a given."

"It will make sense when I tell you why I am so confident about my own money." Francis turned to address the waitress. "I will be having the lamb, and my friend here will be having the baked salmon fillet. Is that right, Arthur?"

"You know me too well," he replied, closing his menu and handing it to the waitress without sparing her a glance. "So, what did you _really_ bring me over here to talk about?"

"You have heard that Bonnefoy Fashion is opening a new outlet in Singapore? Well, _ma mère_ has told me that my own designs will be sold there for the first time, in our very first _Francis_ line." He couldn't quite keep the smugness out of his voice, and Arthur couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips.

"Congratulations," he said sincerely, and Francis beamed.

"I want you to model a few of my pieces. Don't worry, they have already been made to your size and delivered here, it is just the photographs we need to worry about. They need to be ready within four days."

Arthur grimaced. "You didn't leave very much time for that, did you? I'll cancel my Aldo shoot today at three o'clock. I expect you have the photographer here as well?"

"Yes, he is here."

"Damn it, you frog, don't just assume I'll-!" Arthur cut himself off and sighed in exasperation. "What exactly will I be wearing? They had better not be anything _strange_ or God help me, I will murder you."

"Oh, just trousers," Francis said with a grin that said they were much more- or less- than that.

"Trousers. I see. You're just desperate now because you realised I have a nicer-looking arse than you and everyone knows it."

Francis ignored the scathing remark. "We're making another trip to Asia in a week. Both of us have to be there for the opening next Wednesday, so we're scheduled to arrive Tuesday."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the mention that he would be joining, but did not comment on it. "And you've taken the liberty of arranging all that, I presume? We'd be horribly jetlagged, frog, or are you too much of an idiot to remember the time difference? Reschedule our arrival for Monday morning. The direct flight should take about thirteen hours."

"Fine. I'll leave the arrangements to you, and I'll give you your outfit and the schedule of events when we arrive."

"Sounds like a plan."

Within minutes, their food arrived, steaming in front of them on huge plates with tiny portions, more garnish than meat. The two of them stared at their food, Francis curiously poking at his with his fork.

"They're fast, at least," Arthur commented graciously. He took a bite, chewed carefully, then swallowed. "And they're actually quite good."

Francis took a delicate bite of his, and his face scrunched up in disgust. "I could cook better than this. And you call _me_ the tasteless one!"

Arthur flushed, remembering his McDonald's dinner with Leonard. Perhaps Francis had a point. "Yes, well, the mark of a gentleman is that he can dine with kings and beggars all the same." Although Leonard was certainly no beggar, Arthur knew.

He wondered if they would by chance meet again in Singapore, then pushed the foolish thought out of his head and started to eat.

* * *

Eight Days Later

Singapore was hot. Horribly, blisteringly hot.

But Alfred loved every moment of it. He was a sun-worshipper, he had to admit, even though now the air-conditioned buildings were blessings against the humid heat. This wasn't like Macau, where he had been spending all of his time inside the vast hotel- this time he was out, roaming the wide, unbelievably clean streets with his friends, buying useless trinkets and interesting souvenirs for ten dollars per three pieces. Here, he was simply Alfred Jones the college student, taking the train and counting out unfamiliar coins at a painfully slow rate, just like any tourist.

But he wasn't exactly a tourist, he thought smugly to himself. He had been sent out here for free, and sent out to win.

"Alright, so we're going to let you out now for the rest of the day, and then you have tomorrow morning for yourselves as well," their assigned professor said cheerily, with a heavy Singaporean accent that Alfred had to strain to understand. "I hope you don't use your morning just to nurse hangovers! You have quite a big day ahead of you."

Alfred, along with Kiku, were participating in the Mathematical Contest in Modeling, an annual four-day international competition for undergraduates to produce papers with solutions to a modelling problem. It was notoriously difficult, and many previous participants had warned them that they would rip their hair out from frustration- Alfred touched his hair unconsciously as he remembered- but this was the first time that the MCM had been ever been held in one place, bringing all participating teams together in one gloriously genius mess. Alfred was delighted to learn that the Singaporean hosts were not as uptight as he had feared and had in fact told them all about the different bars and nightclubs that students liked to frequent, and were now letting them loose in the Fine City (Alfred couldn't help but snort at the fitting pun).

"It's too bad we had to kick out Bryce," Alfred commented to Kiku as they drifted away from their group toward a shop that sold figurines of various anime characters. "He would have liked Singapore, and now we're down one team member."

"But Bryce-san would have been more interested in the city than in the competition," Kiku replied with a smile that he hid behind his hand, then his eyes widened as he spotted something on a glass shelf. "Oh, it's Hello Kitty!"

"Come on, let's go over to that- that... mall thing across the road. It looks like there's something big happening there!" Alfred grabbed Kiku's arm and dragged him across, sighing in relief as they entered the cool building into a wide, white polished corridor. "What _is_ this place?"

Kiku squinted at the signs around the building. "Ion, I think. The shops here look quite expensive- there shouldn't be this many people, especially on a weekday."

"I told you, it looks like something awesome is happening!"

They moved through the crowd, looking at designer boutiques and wandering inside different shops. Alfred knew he could buy just about anything he wanted here due to his gambling winnings- within reason, of course, he wasn't a Bill Gates quite yet- but he knew that a college student here for a competition would look suspicious if he suddenly started buying Gucci and Prada. He was just about to call Kiku's attention to an interesting Fossil watch when his mobile began to ring.

"Hello? Al?" a quiet, timid voice asked when he picked it up.

"Mattie!" Alfred grinned. "How are you? What time is it there?"

"Two in the morning. I couldn't sleep. I had a bit of arrhythmia earlier, so yeah. Damn tired but I can't do anything about it."

"Arrhythmia?" Alfred demanded. "How bad was it?"

He could practically hear the dismissive wave of his half-brother's hand from the other end of the line. "It wasn't too bad this time, just mild tachycardia, but it was enough to keep me awake. It's nothing to worry about. How is Singapore?"

Alfred smiled, relieved. "Fucking awesome! The competition's gonna start tomorrow at about six in the afternoon, so I'm psyched. Nearly had to pay extra at the airport, though, because all my books weighed a ton." He moved on, signalling to Kiku that he would be wandering around, and entered the crowd again.

"Get me something cool, or I'll beat you with my old hockey stick," Matthew joked. "How is it that you've been to two maths competitions in a month? I didn't know they even _had_ that many!"

Alfred chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I'm just that good."

"Narcissist," Matthew said affectionately. Then he sighed. "I wish I could be there."

"Hey, it's just a competition. Kiku and I'd probably be writing our paper the whole time. You'd be bored."

"No, no, not that." The irritation in his voice was amplified by the slightly tinny quality from the mobile signal. "I mean I wish I could go out and, you know, do stuff. I've never seen anything but Boston and Vancouver, and that was when we were kids. I mean, look at you- you have all these opportunities and shit that I never get, and, well, yeah..."

A pang of hurt shot through Alfred at the bitterness in Matthew's voice, but he ignored it, focusing instead on where he was walking. "Don't pull yourself down, Mattie. Everyone gets the shit kicked out of them by life. You'll be fine."

"Don't lie to me, Al. I know what's happening." Matthew sighed again. "Listen, I'm sorry. I just get a bit..."

"Bitchy?"

"Yeah, bitchy. Sometimes. You know how it is." Alfred imagined his brother's wry, apologetic smile, and felt a bit better.

"Yeah, I know."

Loud pop music suddenly started blaring from somewhere in the mall, and Alfred jumped in surprise. People began whispering excitedly and drifting over to a store a few metres away. Curious, Alfred followed, discussing with Matthew how everyone was doing back in Boston, when a flash of familiar ash blond hair caught his attention through the gaps in the crowd.

_Could that be...?_ "Hey Mattie, something's come up. I'll call you back later- you get some rest, okay? Bye!" He flipped the cover of his mobile down and thrust it back into his pocket, pushing his way through a group of excitedly giggling girls and to the front of the crowd.

There was a new store opening, all glass walls and classic wooden shelves filled with fancy clothing, door blocked by a wide blue ribbon. The lighted sign above the doorway read _Bonnefoy_ in neat script, and hanging at the window was a picture of a handsome man Alfred recognised to be Francis, modelling a tastefully modernised version of what looked like an eighteenth century gentleman's shirt. And across from that, at the other window, was a picture of Arthur.

"Oh my _fucking_ God," Alfred breathed.

It was a simple black and white photograph, but it was possibly the most provocative picture of anyone he had ever seen, with them still being fully-dressed. Arthur was positioned so that his back was to the camera, but slightly at an angle, so his arm resting on the edge of the frame was visible. He had on a loose-fitting white dress shirt and a sharp black hat that reminded Alfred vaguely of a policeman. Shiny, tight leather jeans hugged his hips, and Alfred's eyes were drawn up to the small stretch of exposed skin on his back just under the hem of his shirt. Arthur in the picture looked like he was just on the verge of curling his lips into a smirk, the expression arrogant but inviting.

Alfred glanced at the sparkling gold letters near bottom of the frame. _Cuir, by Francis_. Alfred privately thought that the world would have to thank Bonnefoy Fashion for coming up with this line and making Arthur model for it.

He was still staring at the picture when a loud, heavily accented voice burst through from the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, here today to open the first Bonnefoy store in Singapore, Francis Bonnefoy himself!"

The crowd cheered and clapped appreciatively as Francis, dressed in an eye-catching blue and red ensemble, sauntered in. Alfred noticed he had the same ability to capture a crowd with his very presence, just like Arthur- but unlike his reserved friend, he winked and grinned at everyone, making the teenage girls Alfred had just passed by swoon.

"Good afternoon," Francis greeted, taking the microphone. "Today marks not only the opening of the first Bonnefoy branch in Singapore, but also the release of Bonnefoy's new line of clothing- my own designs, available to the public for the very first time! And to help me open this store, I present the world's number one male model and my closest friend, Arthur Kirkland!"

The crowd went wild, and Alfred's stomach dropped as Arthur walked in, decked out in velvet and leather, calm as ever and twirling a jewelled pair of gold scissors in his fingers. His face was expressionless, but Alfred could tell he was pleased with the reception he was getting. He handed the scissors over to Francis wordlessly, flashed a quick smirk at the audience, and turned his head, his brilliantly green eyes locking with Alfred's.

Arthur's face lit up in astonishment, and the widest smile Alfred had ever seen spread across his face. Alfred suddenly realised what it felt like to be one of those swooning teenage girls, and stopped himself, but he was unable to suppress his beaming grin. He waved madly at Arthur, who raised his hand in a quick greeting before turning back to Francis, the smile still lingering on his lips.

Alfred's heart thudded in his chest as he watched the two of them cut the ribbon- _you're just excited, you haven't seen him in a while, that's all_, he told himself- clapping wordlessly as the people around him cheered. Arthur and Francis shared pleased smiles, then turned to pose for the cameras. Alfred didn't look away, even when Kiku popped up beside him and tugged at his sleeve to get his attention.

"Is that Kirkland-san?" he asked quietly, craning his neck to see over people's shoulders.

"Yeah," Alfred said absently. "Yeah, it is."

He looked down to see his best friend hiding a smile. "I suppose you would want to spend time with him, then. I'll be leaving- I think I saw Elizaveta-san somewhere nearby. Perhaps I could go and say hello. We can meet you back at the dormitory."

"Hey, don't leave, Liz would _love_ to see this!" Alfred protested, but Kiku silenced him with a knowing look.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Goodbye!"

Alfred stared at his friend's retreating back with confusion and more than a bit of embarrassment. He looked back to watch the models talking and answering interviews from breathless reporters, waiting for everyone to leave. It took a long while, but eventually the security personnel managed to disperse the crowd until only he, the models, and a few guards were left outside the store.

"Arthur!" he called out, running toward them. "Arthur!" The guards moved to block his path, but Arthur laid a hand on their shoulders, reassuring them that Alfred was safe.

"Leo!" he greeted. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah, what a coincidence!" Belatedly Alfred remembered to put on a Chinese accent, and cursed himself mentally for forgetting that Arthur knew him as Leonard Andrews, the doctor. "I didn't know you'd be around."

"It was a bit of a rushed thing," Arthur said, lips quirking up into a wry grin. "Oh, hello Francis- you remember Leonard?"

The recognition was slow to spark, but Francis greeted Alfred warmly and shook his hand. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Monsieur Andrews. I hope you have been well?"

"I've been fine," Alfred assured him. "Congratulations on the new line, by the way. Your designs are awesome. I really like that.. that.. that thing Artie's wearing in the picture. It looks great."

"Ah, _Cuir_?" Francis grinned. "It is French for leather, and is only one of the many collections in my line-up for the season. I would have modelled it myself, but Arthur here has more of the look than I do."

"You mean I have a nicer arse," Arthur muttered, raising a hand to muffle a cough that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Alfred couldn't help but agree.

Arthur turned his attention back on Alfred. "I never got to thank you properly for that wonderful time in Macau," he said sincerely, and Alfred's stomach gave a little flip. "Let me make it up to you, perhaps dinner somewhere?"

"I don't think McDonald's is really worth that much-" Alfred started to say, but Arthur cut him off.

"Really, it is no trouble for me. Do you know where Jim Thompson is?"

He scratched his head. "Uh, isn't that the shop?"

Arthur laughed, and Alfred couldn't help but notice the way his eyes crinkled up when he did. "It's also a Thai restaurant on Dempsey Hill. I'll meet you there at, say, six? Want to join us, Francis?"

Francis was staring at Alfred with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. "No, thank you. You two catch up. I can find somewhere else to be." Without another word, he turned back and left the two alone.

"Damned frog always acts like a diva," Arthur commented, shaking his head. "So, does dinner sound good to you? Jim Thompson, Dempsey Hill, six o'clock?"

Alfred smiled. "Sounds fantastic."

* * *

**A/N: **Woo, another chapter down! Now I can safely say a few things... First of all, the Mathematical Competition in Modeling does exist, although there is no set place for it, and instead (if I'm not mistaken) most of it is done online. I've never joined it, seeing as I'm perfectly horrid at maths, so all of my information was taken from this amazing page right here. http :/ /amath .colorado .edu /uploads /event_docs /mcm_guide .pdf

I tried to stick with the tradition of it starting on a Thursday, however I'm not sure if this is set in February or not. I don't think I ever gave a mention- not that it makes much difference in the tropics, actually. The idea of having Francis and Artie open the store in Ion was actually inspired by a Finnish F1 racer, Kimi Raikkonen, opening the Ferrari store in the same place. The idea stuck. XD Anyway, thank you very much for reading, and I very much hope you liked it! Please leave a review if you can. :) *hugs*


	5. Bailamos!

**A/N: **After such a long time without any updates, I present a MONSTER-LENGTH chapter just for you. Gosh. This is almost embarrassing. By the way, I have some pretty long author's notes at the end; no need to really check them out but I'll put the disclaimer there as well as links to my inspirations. XD

I'll be in boarding school in Iggy by next week, so I won't be able to update my fics often at all (CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW LONG IT WILL TAKE CONSIDERING MY USUAL FREQUENCY) and I won't be around on the LJ comms, paint chat, etc. I'm still reachable by email though :D

BY THE WAY. This is dedicated to the awesome **White Mizerable, **who was so excited for this chapter to be put up that I couldn't stop blushing for DAYS. I love you XDDD.

* * *

"_Fuck_, Francis, can you believe it?" Arthur swore in his excitement as he swung open the door to their cabinet, eyes roving over the shirts arranged by colour on the wooden hangers. "It's such a lucky coincidence that we met Leo here. Who would have guessed?"

"Mmm," Francis hummed noncommittally, sprawled out on his hotel bed. "It _is_ a surprise."

"What should I wear, the black or the green?" He held up two dress shirts, staring at each critically. "The green matches my eyes, but the black brings out my complexion... Hm. Black it is, then," he decided, carefully returning the green one to its proper place.

"If you feel it is appropriate for a date," Francis replied.

Arthur rounded on him indignantly, his face flaming. "I- It's not a date! It's simply a reunion between friends. Nothing more than that."

Francis raised an eyebrow at him. "The expression on your face says you wish it to be more. Don't lie to me, Arthur, I know you too well. You are interested in this Leonard of yours."

"I'm not interested in that! And you'd do well to keep your nose out of other people's business," Arthur said scathingly.

Francis sat up and lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "I meant no offence, _mon ami_. It is just that you give the impression of a lovestruck schoolchild."

Arthur threw a hanger at him in frustration, the tips of his ears still pink. "What the _fuck_, frog, are you annoyed that I happen to have friends other than you?"

"I don't trust him," Francis said, his voice rising in exasperation. "You have only known him for four days, and you're acting like he's the best thing that has ever happened to you! What has he done to make you so obsessed?"

"I am _not_ obsessed!" Arthur yelled. "Maybe if you had been around more, then you would have seen that he is a perfectly decent man and a good friend. But no, you have to go flinging yourself at every pretty girl you see, regardless of what happens to me! You just don't treat best friends that way, Francis. The world does not revolve around you, contrary to what everyone else may tell you."

"So you are saying you prefer him over me?"

"At the moment, _yes_!"

Francis' expression closed off, and he spoke in a tight, clipped voice. "Fine. Get dressed, Pierre will take you to the restaurant. After that you can find your own way back."

"Fine," Arthur hissed. He pulled open the bathroom door and slammed it behind him, dressing quickly and combing his hair furiously, only stopping to examine himself in the mirror. Maybe it _was_ a little formal... He undid the top button of his shirt for good measure. It wouldn't do to appear uptight.

When he exited the bathroom, his roommate was standing by the balcony, his back turned. On Arthur's bed was a small red rose that he knew came from Francis- how the man always managed to hide the flowers on his person, he didn't want to know- and he picked up the little apology and smiled slightly. "So you _can_ be nice when you try," he remarked.

"I worry about you, my friend," Francis said, not turning to look. "You very rarely let anyone in, so you must forgive me for being suspicious of this Leonard."

"Sweet, but quite unnecessary. Thank you for your concern anyway."

"Pierre is to do some errands after dropping you off, so I am afraid you will have to brave the terrors of a taxi once more." There was a hint of apologetic amusement in Francis' tone, but Arthur ignored it.

"See you later, frog," he said as he exited their hotel room. "And don't worry. I can take care of myself."

* * *

There were only a few turned heads when Francis' limousine pulled into the circular drop-off point of Jim Thompson, and Arthur smiled to himself in satisfaction as Pierre opened the door for him. He stepped out, quickly crossing over to the wooden platform of the restaurant's entrance to avoid getting dust on his shoes, nodding his thanks. He walked down the wide path, passing candle-lit tables, still mostly empty, and smiled as he made his way over to the Filipino receptionist.

"Good evening, I made a reservation for two under Kirkland?"

"_Sawasdee ka_," she greeted, bowing her head slightly and smiling back. "Yes, your table is inside, sir. Your server will show you there."

Jim Thompson was an old, refurbished colonial building, decorated in a unique blend of modern and traditional Thai style. It was quiet, peaceful, and exotic- except perhaps for the eye-catching bar covered with silver mirrors. It was bright, almost blinding, and Arthur sat with his back to it- it was quite probably the only thing he absolutely could not stand in the restaurant. But without the mirrors of the bar to distract him, he relaxed and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes as he listened to the soft strains of traditional Thai music from the zither player in the corner. He didn't realise he had dozed off until he was roughly jolted awake by a loud voice.

"Arthur!" Leonard cried, almost stumbling in his haste to reach the table. "Arthur, I'm sorry I'm late! I'm staying really far away, and I got lost and you must be _starving_-"

"And you couldn't be bothered to fix yourself up?" Arthur said in mock irritation, eyeing Leonard's messy hair and sloppily put-on clothing.

Leonard caught the hint of amusement in his tone and breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a cocky smirk. "Guess you're not so important after all," he said, and both of them burst into laughter.

"Have a seat," Arthur said when the chuckles had subsided. "Or if you don't want to see that monstrosity, you can move beside me-"

"_Monstrosity?_ It's awesome!" The light from the mirrored bar reflected in Leonard's glasses, and he looked for a moment, in Arthur's opinion, like a starry-eyed, gaping idiot. "I mean, look at that thing! They've even got those twisty thingies hanging from the ceiling, and oh, _awesome_, they've got fans underneath to turn them... Damn, I could stare at this all night!"

Arthur's pride was a little bruised by the fact that Leonard had a supermodel in front of him but preferred to stare dumbly at silver shiny things. He opened his menu, hiding a scowl, and from the corner of his eye he saw Leonard do the same. He wondered whether his date- _companion,_ he reminded himself severely- knew how to read Thai. His question was answered not a moment too soon.

"How the heck do you read this?" Leonard complained loudly, lowering his voice when Arthur shot him a pointed look.

"I can't," Arthur said loftily. "But if you care to look, there are English descriptions under the titles."

Leonard adjusted his glasses. "Oh. Oh yeah. Haha, thanks!" was the sheepish reply, coupled with an embarrassed but sincere grin. Arthur felt his heartbeat quicken a little, but then he pushed the feeling away.

When they gave their orders- a beef dish and a prawn dish that they couldn't for the lives of them pronounce the names of, as well as some drinks- they sat back and watched each other silently. _Well,_ Arthur thought with some irritation. _He's probably looking at the bar again_. He cleared his throat softly and asked, "So, why are you here in Singapore? Some conference, or just a holiday?"

"I have a relative here," Leonard answered with a smile. "My aunt, actually. I was going to go to a conference but it got cancelled, and I decided not to waste the ticket so I could stay with her instead. She lives all the way near that university- Nanyang Technological University, yeah, so that's why I was late. I just came from there. It's pretty far away."

Arthur felt guilty suddenly for teasing Leonard about his sloppy appearance, realising that his friend had in fact travelled far- a round trip, even!- just to try and fix himself up for their dinner. His pride smarted at the idea of apologising, though, so he instead commented on Leonard's decision. "You really are fond of your family, aren't you?"

There was a strange, faraway look in Leonard's eyes when he replied. "Yeah. I care about my family a lot."

An awkward silence fell over the both of them, and Arthur felt distinctly uncomfortable without really knowing why. Thankfully, the both of them were saved by the arrival of their drinks- a glass of red wine for Arthur and a mango yoghurt blend for Leonard. Arthur took a sedate sip, watching Leonard almost inhale it through his straw, then smiled in amusement at the huge grin on his face. "It's that good?"

"It's awesome!" Leonard declared, having already finished half of the glass. "You should try a bit before I polish it off." He pushed the glass toward him, an excited smile on his face, and Arthur was reminded of their first meal together in that McDonald's.

He smiled and took a slow sip, widening his eyes at the sweet, fruity taste the thick mixture left in his mouth. "It's... it's brilliant," he said in surprise, taking another sip before he could stop himself.

Leonard took the glass back with a bright grin. "It is, isn't it? It's one of my favourite things about tropical countries- the food's always great. Although," he added hastily. "Nothing can beat McDonald's. What do you like about the tropics?"

"Hmm." Arthur bit the inside of his lip as he thought. "I hate the heat," he confessed. "And I hate how whenever we're in a hot country, that blasted frog keeps leaving me to go to some beach. But I do like to learn about different cultures, even though I don't much care to immerse myself in them like most people do."

Leonard stared at him in amazement. "But that's- that's what's so awesome about going places! You get to meet different people and eat different food and it doesn't matter whether you get sick or not because that's _fun_-"

"I hardly see how getting sick is fun," Arthur scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "And besides, it's not like I can afford to go traipsing around the usual tourist spots of a foreign country. Something might happen."

"Artie," Leonard began slowly, as if he were talking to a child, and Arthur bristled. "Singapore is probably the safest city ever. It's like... Asia 101 for the unsuspecting foreigner. I mean, low crime doesn't mean no crime, but I still think you're thinking about things too much. I doubt you'll get mugged or anything."

"It's not _that_," Arthur protested. "I think I can take care of myself in that respect." He frowned at Leonard's stifled, disbelieving snicker. "It's true. What I'm more worried about is tarnishing my reputation." He could see Leonard still wasn't fully convinced, and he sighed. "Never mind. Our food should be arriving soon anyhow."

"Sweet," Leonard commented, and as soon as the word left his lips, a waitress came to their table, bringing plates of food. He stared at Arthur. "Your timing-"

"Is brilliant, yes, I know," Arthur said airily, smirking at the astounded look on the face of his companion. "I'm just that good."

Leonard waited for the waitress to leave, then stuck a tongue out at him childishly. "That was just a lucky guess."

Arthur shrugged. "Believe what you will. Try the prawns; I had them last time and they were delicious."

Leonard looked at the food doubtfully, picking up his fork and dipping it a little into the sauce. "It looks weird. I mean, from the description I knew it would be weird but it really does look... _weird_. Not that I'm complaining," he amended hurriedly. "It's just that I don't think I've ever had this before."

"If I recall correctly, weren't you the one who was just telling me that it was fun to eat everything, regardless of the effects on your health?" Arthur couldn't suppress a snicker. "But don't worry, you won't get sick here."

"I wasn't saying I'd get sick," Leonard protested, spearing a prawn and shoving it into his mouth as if to prove a point. He moved his mouth furiously, then slowed, his eyes widening as he chewed thoughtfully. When he finished, it took a moment for him to speak. "It's... good," he declared in surprise. "Weird, but really good."

Arthur cast him a smug glance. "Of course it's good, it's Jim Thompson." _And of course, for these prices, it shouldn't be anything less than good,_ he thought, though he could have most likely afforded to purchase everything on the menu in threes. "Try the beef and see if you like it."

Leonard pierced a strip of meat eagerly and thrust it into his mouth. "Awesome," he said, his mouth still full, causing Arthur to shoot him a glare. He swallowed and grinned apologetically. "Sorry. Hey, you're not eating!"

"I like to take my time," Arthur replied, nevertheless taking a portion from both dishes and arranging them on his plate. He ate delicately, picking out only the choicest parts and chewing carefully but minimally, so it was hardly obvious he was even moving his jaw at all. It was like second-nature to him, but he could feel Leonard's amusement boring into him from across the table. "What?" he snapped. "Haven't you ever seen a man eat before?"

Leonard began to laugh. "I don't know, I just used to think that rich guys were, you know, pompous jerks and all, eating like pigs and just generally being asses about everything."

"True richness is not measured by material things," Arthur said primly. "It's something everyone would do well to learn." _Also, it's horribly impolite to make remarks on other people's wealth,_ he thought privately to himself, trying not to burst into an all-out rant.

Leonard seemed silenced by his answer, and Arthur watched as he chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. Deciding not to wait for a reply, he continued eating at a slow pace, though by the time he was full he hadn't had even half amount that Leonard had put on his plate. Arthur sighed in amused exasperation- he had forgotten how much his friend liked to eat.

"Let's play a game," Leonard said suddenly, making Arthur choke on his drink a little. "I ask you a question about yourself, you answer, then it's your turn. I mean, we haven't known each other for very long so I guess this should be a nice get-to-know-you sort of thing, yeah?"

Arthur set the glass down with an audible clink- he winced- then dabbed at his mouth with the corner of his napkin. "That sounds interesting. Who starts?"

"Oh, oh, I want to! Um, let's see, how about something really general? What's your favourite colour?"

"Green," Arthur replied automatically. "It makes me think of the countryside. It's a rather pretty colour, you have to admit. What's yours?"

"Blue!" Leonard answered excitedly. "It's like the sky, and my eyes are blue!" Arthur stifled a snort of laughter at the naive conceit. "Hey, was that your question already? Let me ask something else. Um, what music do you like?"

"Rock," Arthur said, smirking at the shocked expression his answer received. "A combination of classical and rock is also something I quite enjoy listening to, but the original punk rock never loses its flavour. And you?"

"Wow, um... Everything, really. But I like fast beats and a hot bassline, it makes everything work. So, hm... Are you single? Have you ever had a girlfriend?" Leonard asked innocently.

"Wh-What?" Arthur spluttered, his cheeks turning red. "What kind of a question is that!"

Leonard laughed. "Hey, come on, just answer it! No harm meant, really."

Arthur felt his lower lip jut out, and try as he might he couldn't school his expression into anything but a sulking pout. "Alright, fine. I've never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend or any sort of _dalliance_ in my life, so if it's some juicy scandal you're looking for, I am sorry to disappoint you. And before you ask, no, I have never been kissed nor have I ever done anything remotely inappropriate, so I suggest you find some other topic before I suspect you of working with the media." Arthur slapped a hand over his mouth, horrified at what he had just let slip.

"Hey, hey, chill!" Leonard put his hands up in a placating gesture. "It was an honest question, geez, I didn't know you'd react like that. And just so it's even between us, yeah, I've had a few girlfriends before, but I'm not with anyone at the moment."

Arthur felt his stomach sink. He was going to bring it up, he just knew it. In three... two... one...

"Oh my God!" Leonard exclaimed, attracting the attention of a couple a few tables away. "Did you just say you're-"

"Hush!" Arthur said hurriedly, resisting the urge to leap over the table and clap a hand over his mouth. "Don't be so loud!"

"Hey Artie, are you a _virgin?_" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Arthur buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"Oh, shut up, you git. Just shut up."

"Oi." Something nudged his shoe under the table, and Arthur looked up, his face still burning. "That was just some good old fashioned teasing, you know? I mean it's totally cool that you haven't done anything yet. I mean-" Here it was Leonard's turn to turn red. "It's really respectable and all, considering how most people are these days. It's nice to see someone with values, and yeah, it kinda makes me wish that I had thought things through more when I was a teenager."

Arthur averted his eyes when Leonard's bored into them- _he's right, they're so very blue_- and he could feel his blush intensifying. "I- I... well, thank you," he mumbled. "Do you want dessert?"

Leonard laughed and patted his stomach. "Nah, not this time. We can get it somewhere else- oh! Want some _cultural immersion?_" He asked, and Arthur tilted his head to the side in confusion, raising a hand to signal the waiter to bring the bill. "I heard Clarke Quay's a really interesting place. A whole lot of bars and stuff."

"Oh, no, no, no," Arthur said hurriedly, mind jumping to Francis coming back to their hotel room stone-drunk and with at least two girls hanging off his arms. "I couldn't possibly-"

"Come _on,_ it'll be fun! Just trust me on this, will you? It'll be _awesome_."

Leonard beamed at him, and against his will Arthur found himself nodding.

* * *

The taxi ride to Clarke Quay was quiet, with Alfred bouncing in anticipation and Arthur trying as politely as possible not to touch anything in the car. Soft Chinese pop music filled the silence, and it seemed that the ride could never be quick enough. But soon, Alfred caught sight of what seemed to be gigantic metal umbrellas towering over a mess of multicoloured buildings- they had arrived.

Alfred leapt out of the taxi when it pulled over, almost forgetting to pay the driver in his excitement, and pulled Arthur's hand as he stepped out with much less enthusiasm. "Look at that!" he cried, pointing to four steel structures rising high above the ground. From two of the towers a metal capsule was swinging wildly, the people inside screaming, and between the other two smoke seemed to be filling another gridded metal box.

"What _is_ that?" Arthur asked, taking a nervous step back. The smoke-filled box was suddenly thrown up into the air, suspended only by thick, floppy purple cables, the trio inside shrieking and laughing as the frame bounced up and down at a dizzying height.

"I don't know, but it looks awesome!" Alfred yelled back, pulling him forward and joining the rather short queue. "We've gotta try it!"

"There is _absolutely_ no way I am getting in one of those things!" Arthur yelped, tugging at his hand, but Alfred kept his fingers locked tightly around Arthur's wrist, preventing him from escaping. "Leonard Andrews! Release me this instant!"

"No way!" Alfred said joyfully as he gazed at the ride in wonder. "It looks like it's gonna be a blast!"

With a hard tug, Arthur managed to get Alfred to stumble out of the line. "We will _not_ go on it, and that is final."

Alfred knew it was childish, but he couldn't help the pout that formed on his mouth. He turned a pleading gaze to Arthur. "Oh come on, don't be such a spoilsport! At least let's go on the swingy thing? Please please please please _please_-"

He heard an exasperated sigh and smirked inwardly, knowing he had won. "Fine," Arthur huffed, moving to cross his arms over his chest, but Alfred's hand was in the way. With a deft twist of his wrist he was released, and Alfred wondered why he hadn't done that in the first place. "There isn't any queue at this _swingy thing_ of yours, so let's get away from this rabble and get it over with."

Within moments they were strapped into place, padded safety bars locked across their chests as they sat inside the open metal capsule. The man in charge checked their restraints one last time, pocketing the money Alfred handed him and giving them a decidedly wicked grin.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Arthur asked with no small amount of trepidation as the capsule began to rise diagonally.

Alfred gave an excited laugh in response. "Come on, what's the worst that can happen? It's not like we're going to die!"

The capsule clicked to a stop high above the ground, tilted so much that Alfred found himself looking straight down at the tiny figures of people way below. His pulse raced in anticipation- when would they be dropped? When would it happen?

He felt Arthur's hand grasp his, and the capsule was released.

"_Fuck!_" He heard Arthur shriek as their stomachs dropped, the air rushing past their faces. Alfred yelled out in adrenaline-pumped euphoria, squinting his eyes against the wind and throwing his hands up, Arthur's still clasped in his right. For a heart-pounding second, everything was still as they reached the highest point of their curve, and Alfred found himself looking straight up at the star-strewn night sky, then they started falling backwards again. His brain conjured up equations, approximating their trajectory and calculating their average velocity almost instantly- simple, elementary mechanics, but he didn't want to think about that, not with the wind in his hair and Arthur Kirkland beside him, and he pushed physics from his mind. Soon the world narrowed down to spinning lights and upside down buildings and screaming and the warmth of a slender hand cutting off circulation in his arm as they swung wildly from the metal cable, their momentum carrying them forward and back. The capsule twisted and turned with the force of the swinging and Alfred gave another whoop of excitement at the dizzying feeling.

All too soon, the capsule came to a stop, touching down on the platform. They put back their restraints and clambered out, Alfred giddy with pleasure and Arthur white-faced and in shock.

"You're insane," he muttered to Alfred as they weaved their way through the crowd, heading for the cluster of brightly coloured buildings up ahead. "Completely, utterly insane. You owe me alcohol, and lots of it."

Alfred slung an arm around his shoulders, laughing uproariously. "Lighten up, Artie! God, that was fun. Let's do it again!"

"Fuck you."

Alfred tousled Arthur's hair, laughing at the expression on his face. "Just kidding! Oh, hey, look, an ice cream stand- want some? It'll be my treat!" He dragged the other over to a small kiosk where there was a short queue at the register, waiting to order their treats. "Turkish ice cream," Alfred read, squinting up at the sign. "What do you suppose the shop's name is?"

Arthur, having regained his composure, examined the letters critically. "I can't for the life of me pronounce it either. And what's so special about it being Turkish? Do you suppose they add anything?"

Alfred shrugged. "Beats me."

They began to discuss the controversial topic of whether the ride they had just taken was fun or not- it totally _was_, Alfred knew, and it didn't matter to him what anyone said- and became so engrossed in their argument that they didn't realise they had reached the register until the young man behind it coughed politely. "Sirs? You can choose any flavour you want; would you like cones or cups?"

"Two cones, please," replied Alfred with a cheery smile, and paid the six dollars before running to the side where a man in a strange-looking Turkish costume stood behind several deep tubs of ice cream set into the counter. "Hi!" Alfred greeted him, handing over the receipt. "I'll have a strawberry."

The man stuck the receipt on a metal bar next to a large bronze bell hanging from it. "One strawberry cone, coming up!" he declared dramatically, pulling out a rather lethal-looking steel stick and jabbing it into a tub, drawing out a large blob of frozen pink cream on the end of it. Alfred watched in amazement as a waffle cone was stuck firmly on the cream and handed to him upside down.

"Oh, that's awesome! Thanks!" he chirped, taking the cone happily.

"You're welcome," the man boomed out in his deep, gravelly voice as he took away the bar- and the ice cream along with it.

Alfred was left with an empty cone, and beside him he heard Arthur smother a snicker. "Hey," he objected, holding up the cone. "You, uh, forgot the ice cream."

The man squinted at Alfred. "No, no, no, I would never make that mistake. You eat too fast, see? You shouldn't be so eager, you'll get even fatter."

"Hey!"

The man cracked a wide grin and took back the cone, stabbing the bar into the tub again and drawing out the sphere of ice cream. Alfred looked away to find a (somewhat sadistically) grinning Arthur, then, fearing more tricks, he trained his gaze back on the man who was now handing him another ice cream cone. Gingerly, he took it, then nearly jumped back in surprise as once again he was left with just the wafer- but the man was holding another cone!

"What?" he spluttered, and this time Arthur laughed outright. Obviously he had missed something here.

The man chuckled, snatching the cone out of Alfred's hand again and extending the stick, still filled with ice cream, towards him. This time Alfred just stood still as the cone was made to dance teasingly around him, tossed about in the air until it made one large circle around his head, before the man raised a hand for a high-five and handed him the frozen treat properly.

"Freaking finally," Alfred grunted as Arthur placed his order, asking for vanilla, then he groaned when the cone was handed to him without preamble. "Hey, that's totally unfair," he objected as they walked away from the stall, Arthur already licking at his ice cream. "He didn't even try to trick you at all!"

"You just have the look of someone who is easy to deceive, that is all," he replied, smirk still tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Are you saying I look stupid?" Alfred asked, finally biting into his ice cream, then all thought of being insulted flew away. "Hey," he exclaimed. "This is really good!"

"It is quite delicious, yes," Arthur agreed, closing his eyes for a slow second. Alfred watched intently as a pink tongue darted out to lick the cream, then he shook his head. _What's getting into me? It's just food._

"Oh, look!" A hand tugged at his jacket sleeve, and Alfred looked down in surprise to see Arthur attempting to pull him forward. "We simply must go!"

Alfred tried to figure out where exactly Arthur was leading him, eyes landing on a pair of scantily-clad, heavily made-up women. _He wants to talk to them? But that's so... so unlike him!_ Alfred thought in confusion, then he looked up to find a sign above their heads. _TEMPORARY TATTOO._ Oh. _Oh_.

"How much?" Arthur asked one of the girls once they reached the stall. She was a tall, pretty thing with fake tattoos on her skin and sparkling eyeshadow on her face; Alfred disliked her immediately.

Her eyes darted to Arthur's face, widened for a moment in recognition, then dropped down again in a falsely bored expression. "Fifteen dollars for one, any design," she replied in a tone that was carefully flat but not unfriendly, boosting Alfred's opinion of her by a notch. "We have samples there on the board. It lasts for five to ten days."

"I'll take that one," Arthur declared, pointing at a rather tough-looking unicorn head, and Alfred grinned. It suited him quite well. Arthur lifted up the back of his shirt, swivelling his hips a little and touching the small of his back. "And I want it here."

Alfred choked on a mouthful of ice cream, beating his chest to dislodge a particularly sticky dollop of cream from his throat. "There?" he squeaked in a decidedly masculine way. "Isn't that kind of... weird?"

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. "It's only temporary, and I'm paid for every square inch of skin I show, prices varying depending on the location." At this Alfred nearly choked again. "Only a very select number of brands can afford that particular area, so it's highly unlikely that anyone will be harping on about a little ink there."

"And Francis?" Alfred asked, remembering the same little stretch of skin in the advertisement for _Cuir_. His stomach did a little flip at the memory.

Arthur smirked evilly. "The prices are jacked up just for him."

Alfred laughed, unable to help himself as Arthur paid the girl and bent over, resting his elbows on the low table in front of him. Alfred gulped, wanting to look away but deciding not to. The girl seemed to have gotten nervous sometime during Arthur's little speech, and she tried to touch as little of him as possible when she hiked his shirt up and began to put the stencil in place. Alfred wanted to thank her, but at the same time had the inexplicable urge to rip her head off her shoulders with his bare hands.

_Fuck it, I am_ not _gay, _he told himself fiercely. But Arthur looked so attractive bent over that way, relaxed and waiting, and _oh God_ he was still licking at his (vanilla, Alfred realised despairingly) ice cream, getting little drops of white on his lips and chin before swiping them away with his tongue. Alfred felt his face burning. _Okay,_ he conceded. _Maybe it's a little mancrush. It happens sometimes. I'm still straight._

"Do you want it too?" Arthur broke through his thoughts, his head tilted innocently to the side. His tongue darted out for another lick, and Alfred could have sworn his brain just died. It took him a while to realise Arthur was talking about the tattoo. "I notice you keep staring. I could pay for one for you if you like," he offered graciously.

"Nah, I'm fine," he answered hurriedly, then mentally slapped himself. Shit, he had forgotten the accent. Thankfully, Arthur didn't seem to have noticed.

A thought suddenly popped unbidden into his head. _This would look so nice if there wasn't anyone slathering ink on him from behind._ Alfred shook his head furiously, horrified at himself and his traitorous mind, and finished the rest of his ice cream in one gulp before he choked any further.

After what seemed like an age, the girl finished powdering the drying ink and stood up, putting away her bottle. Arthur stood as well, fixed his shirt and thanked her. Alfred immediately steered him away, his mind still wandering in rather dark directions. He needed a distraction. "Hey, Artie," he said suddenly, a figurative lightbulb flashing over his head. He grinned at the mental image. "How's about we go to a bar? This place is rolling in them!"

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "I only drink alcohol from the family cellar," he replied primly, then he sighed in resignation. "But I guess I, er, wouldn't mind going to a bar, since you're so keen on it."

"Or a _club!_" Alfred nearly shrieked in glee. "I bet a stuffy guy like you wouldn't be able to handle it," he challenged cheekily.

Arthur, who looked like he had been about to protest, gritted his teeth and smirked instead. "Bring it on. And I do believe you still owe me alcohol."

"Can't go in there with ice cream, though," Alfred said thoughtfully. "That's a pain. You'll just have to eat it quickly."

"If I eat faster than this it'll get all over my clothes," Arthur objected. He did, however, attempt to eat faster, biting off pieces of the cone and getting cream all over his mouth as he did it.

Alfred laughed, flicking cream off his nose with a tap of his finger. "Need help finishing it? I could have the rest." He only received a glare for his efforts.

"I _like_ this ice cream," Arthur complained petulantly, biting into it as if to prove his point. The cream was now going everywhere, but it only took a casual flick on the top of his head to make him stop.

"Relax, Artie, I'm not gonna take it! You're getting cream everywhere. Here, have a tissue," Alfred said, fishing one out from his pocket and handing it to him. "You've got some on your cheek there. Geez, no wonder you eat so slowly all the time if you're so messy when you try to speed up!"

"Oh do shut up," Arthur retorted irritably, dabbing at his cheek. "I'm already halfway through, I don't see why you're complaining if you want to get into a club soon. Ugh," he exclaimed suddenly as he touched his face. "I'm all sticky."

"Go wash your face, I'll hold your ice cream for you," Alfred offered with a wink.

Arthur glared at him. "Not even if you paid me. I'm finishing this bloody thing then I'll find somewhere to wash this off." He all but _devoured_ the cone, making an even bigger mess of himself and leaving Alfred to blink in confusion as he flounced off to find a restroom.

"What a moody guy," Alfred thought aloud. He looked around for something to amuse him while Arthur was gone; thankfully, Clarke Quay was full of amusements, if nothing else. There was another lady having a butterfly tattoo done on her arm, and some Scottish bar thing- was it called a pub? Alfred wondered- had waiters outside in red skirts. The skirts had a name, he knew, but he couldn't for the life of him be bothered to remember it. He let his eyes wander further, taking in the colourful two-floor buildings and the strange, grey, plastic umbrella sky. Around him people were milling about in their best clubbing outfits, some already half-drunk despite the early hour. One woman was already giggling and unsteadily hanging on to the neck of a man he supposed was her boyfriend; the guy was shooting dirty looks at anyone who looked twice at them, Alfred included.

The place looked _perfect_ for getting Arthur to loosen up, and Alfred reminded himself to thank their guide professor for the tip.

A fast, rhythmic beating sound caught his attention, and he wandered off to look for the source. It only took him a few steps before he found it- in front of a Persian restaurant was a man with dreadlocks playing a killer beat on a drum, and a pretty girl was belly dancing to the music, skilfully sidestepping the passing waiters. Alfred had to work to stop his jaw from dropping to the ground. After tonight he'd have to buy their professor a really, _really_ awesome present.

A crowd was gathering around him, some people bringing out their cameras, and Alfred sorely regretted that he hadn't thought to bring his. The girl winked at one camera, her sheer, shiny costume glimmering in the artificial lights, causing a man beside Alfred to actually sigh. The dancer spun across the floor, arms twisting in complicated patterns he couldn't even begin to comprehend. He watched open-mouthed as she danced, all starry eyes and smiles and undulating flesh; his eyes locked on to her gyrating hips and he felt a flush creep to his cheeks. He bit his lip.

"I could do better than that," a voice scoffed in his ear, making him jump in surprise and turn around swiftly.

"Artie!" He exclaimed loudly in surprise, taking him by the arm and moving quickly away from the crowd before he got too engrossed in watching the dance. Only when they were out of the throng of people did Arthur's words register properly. "Wait, you _what?_"

"She's good, but I can do better," Arthur repeated, a hint of a blush on his now-clean cheeks.

"Belly dancing?" Alfred asked doubtfully.

Arthur scowled at him. "Obviously, that's what I meant. Don't look so surprised, there _are_ male belly dancers after all."

Alfred couldn't help himself; he doubled over laughing. "Dude, that's so weird! I mean like- _why_ would you even know that?" _And it's gay, _he thought to himself, but decided not to voice it because he remembered Arthur had kind-of-sort-of-maybe been checking him out in Macau.

"I had a Turkish nanny when I was younger," he replied shortly, face burning red. "She used to be a street performer. I wanted to learn the other, more masculine dances but she didn't know them very well, so I became quite the adept belly dancer. My brothers never let me live it down."

Alfred made to laugh, but suddenly an image of Arthur in sheer veils and a slitted, translucent skirt, dripping with gold coins and rings, flashed through his mind, and he gulped. His traitorous brain knew exactly where to put the recently acquired tattoo; it was one of the few times he wished he didn't have near-photographic memory. He managed a weak chuckle. "That's still a pretty weird thing for a kid to learn. A _guy_ kid."

Arthur sniffed. "Just because the dance is generally performed by women doesn't mean performances by men are _weird_," he shot back irritably. "Just... different."

This time Alfred did laugh. "Well, whatever you say, belly-boy," he said, taking pride in the way Arthur cringed at the nickname. "Say, let's find that club already so you can show me how good you are!"

Arthur's eyes _flared_ with the challenge. "This one, then!" He grabbed Alfred's arm and ducked them into the nearest queue, which was quite long and rather noisy. There were a number of people turned away, for some reason, so it didn't take them long to reach the doormen. Alfred hadn't really been paying attention so before he knew it Arthur had slapped a 50 dollar bill into the bouncer's palm, receiving two stamps on the back of his hand. Alfred felt his hand roughly grabbed and stamped as well, and suddenly they were in the club.

The first thing he thought was that he had accidentally walked into someone's very posh, very crowded hotel bedroom. The place was decorated with golden curtains and chrome lighting, and soft-looking couches littered the edges of the room. A decently-sized dance floor took up a part of the centre, and there was a bar on the other side that just happened to have two seats free.

"Alright!" he yelled in excitement, tugging Arthur to the bar. "Let's get you loosened up so you can have some _real_ fun, not that stuffy old gentlemanly thing you like to do."

"Brilliant," Arthur said in reply. "I want to be totally sloshed by the time the night is over." Alfred couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or not, so he just looked over the selections quickly and ordered him a Blue Bayou.

"What's in it?" Arthur asked him doubtfully, and Alfred shrugged.

"Beats me, but it's blue, so it must be awesome!"

Arthur scowled as the drink was quickly set in front of him. "Honestly, I'd think you'd feed me poison if it were blue." He raised the glass to his lips and took a sedate sip, and his eyes widened. "On second thought, perhaps now I'm more inclined to agree with you."

Alfred winked. "Told ya blue things are awesome. Hey bartender, give me another of those Blue Bayous, and a-" he scanned the selection quickly. "Kiwi Mango Mint."

"Kiwi Mango Mint?" Arthur asked in disbelief. "And you were calling _me_ strange."

"Hey," he objected defensively. "We're in a tropical country, might as well go all-out with the tropical stuff. It sounds amazing anyway. I don't care if it's a girly drink, it's got mango!"

"Whatever you say," he replied as the blue drink was set in front of Alfred, and a yellow-green one was in front of him. He polished off his Blue Bayou quickly and reached for the next drink. "This had better be good. If it isn't, you're buying me whiskey and we're sticking to it." He took another sip, then downed the whole thing.

"Guess we're not having whiskey then," Alfred teased, poking him in the side. He finished his own drink in two gulps, then blanched as he realised it was vodka. "Ugh, I think I'll have something else. Bartender, get us one of these!" he called out, pointing to a random line on the menu that he didn't even bother reading this time.

"Fuck, I know this thing," Arthur said, watching the bartender mix the drinks. "What's this, the tea thing... er, Long Island Iced Tea? Isn't it supposed to get people completely drunk after one glass?"

"Yeah," Alfred grinned in satisfaction as the drink was set in front of him- but blinked in surprise when it was suddenly swiped away. "Hey!" he protested as Arthur sipped it greedily. "I was gonna drink that!"

Arthur was already halfway through the glass, and he raised slightly glazed eyes to Alfred in an arrogant sneer. "Like hell you are. Were. Whatever." He blinked in confusion when Alfred snatched it back. "Oi, that's not fair."

Alfred laughed, drinking until there was only a half-inch of liquid left. "You're wasted already! We haven't even been here thirty minutes!"

"'M not a lightweight," he protested with a hint of a slur in his voice. "You're just imagining things." He signalled to the bartender to get him another drink, which he downed again. "See? I can take it!"

"Hey, Artie, I don't wanna be responsible for you passing out or anything," Alfred began worriedly. Even _he_ was already feeling quite tipsy, and he could hold his liquor really well "You're already kinda drunk-"

"I amn't!" Arthur declared, raising his empty glass, then he quieted down. "Am _not_," he said proudly once his mind had wrapped around the concept of proper grammar.

"You're not even speaking right, Artie-"

"No, my English is good. S'like... perfect. Kinda like you. And me," he added, preening.

Alfred sputtered at the unintentional compliment. "Really, I think you've had enough!"

"Nonsense, love. Bartender, get me one of these," he said, pointing to something on the menu. Alfred watched in dismay as the bartender mixed generous amounts of vodka and Red Bull, then in horror as Arthur threw his head back and poured it down his throat in one go.

"Alright," he said quickly, standing up and slamming a few bills on the counter. "Let's stop with the drinking and do something else before you kill yourself."

"Upstairs!" Arthur suggested with a sort of drunken giggle, and Alfred flinched, turning red. "There's another club upstairs, silly," Arthur explained with a grin. "I'm not _that_ drunk."

"Oh, that's great," Alfred sighed in relief, as they made their way up the dark, steep staircase. Above them, he could hear the faint thud of bass, and the vibrations of people moving rippled through the wooden banister. He felt a jolt of anticipation- just what was up there?

It didn't take him long to find out. The two of them emerged into a world about as far from the downstairs as the earth was to the sun. Alfred felt like he had been plunged into a veritable kaleidoscope of laser and strobe, darkness shrouding suspicious-looking corners and couches. The huge dance floor was jam-packed with people moving as one mass of swaying, gyrating flesh. A collective scream of excitement rose from the crowd as the DJ switched tracks, and to his surprise Arthur gave a yell of approval as well.

"I fucking _hate_ this version," he said, swaying in place. "But I love the song!" He grabbed the front of Alfred's shirt, ignoring the surprised yelp, and started singing, mouth pressed to his ear. "I feel like I've been locked up tight, a century of lonely nights waiting, waiting for someone!"

Alfred shivered at the breath in his ear and involuntarily jerked a hand up to Arthur's waist- but Arthur was already spinning away, tugged along by a pretty girl grasping his wrist. Alfred watched in shock as Arthur- reserved, prudish Arthur- lost himself in the crowd.

_Well, now we know what happens when he's drunk,_ Alfred thought to himself in amusement with the slightest tinge of jealousy at the way the girl was pressing herself up against Arthur in a way that was much too close to be polite. He was jerked out of his musings by a hand tapping him on the shoulder, and he whirled around to face a local girl about a head smaller than him, pretty and lithe and sweet-looking.

"Want to dance?" she asked him, flashing him a huge smile, and he felt himself grinning back.

"Sure!" he said, following her into the centre of the crowd, pushing past sweat-slick bodies- he could have sworn he saw Arthur just a little to his right, being fawned over by no less than three women, but the laser light shifted and he couldn't tell anymore. The girl led him further in until the mass of bodies was nearly impenetrable, and she tugged him closer, already moving to the electronic beat.

Dancing had never been something the golden boy of MIT could do well- he could work out the trickiest mathematical problems at lightning speed, bench-press practically all of the gym equipment, and pick up the most girls at any bar, but anyone who knew him could swear he had been born with two left feet when it came to dancing. He bumped into his partner and into the people around him, muttering quick apologies when he was shot dirty looks, but the girl only laughed and took his hands in hers.

"Let yourself go," she shouted, barely audible over the music, and guided him in his clumsy, tipsy attempts to dance. "No one cares anyway!"

"What's your name?" Alfred asked as he tried to sway to the music, unable to quite keep up with the beat and the people around him. "I'm-" he stopped suddenly, his slightly alcohol-fogged brain trying to work it out. "Leo," he answered finally, just in case she met Arthur.

"Janet," she said, pressing closer. "You here for long?"

"Not really," he replied, smiling widely. _Hey, I think I'm kinda getting it now!_ he thought, elated, when he awkwardly managed to keep in time with the music. "'Bout five days or so."

She didn't speak after that, just raised a hand to her dark hair and swayed her hips. Alfred found himself grinning brightly, having fun despite still knocking into a few other people, and was disappointed when even before the song ended, Janet went off to dance with a young Indian man who flashed an apologetic smile at Alfred. Finding himself partnerless, he moved around the floor, pumped with adrenaline and dancing without caring what he looked like anymore, and suddenly he saw Arthur again. He was alone as well, but surrounded by a gaggle of girls- and a few men, too- watching him move. He let out a _whoosh_ of air in surprise and appreciation, and he didn't know _how_ Arthur could have heard it but he must have, because suddenly he was looking straight at him, cheeks flushed with adrenaline and alcohol and green eyes glittering with mischief.

Alfred let out an pained huff as his friend flung himself at his chest, never stopping with his movements. "Hey," Arthur breathed into his ear again, laughing softly. "Dance with me?"

"I'm awful," Alfred said honestly, trying to push Arthur away, cheeks turning red. Already a small number of people were looking with interest at the awkward man trying to fend off the drunken dancer. "You wouldn't find it fun at all. Look, there's a girl over there who's just dying to be your partner. Or even that guy over there, if you fancy guys."

"Don't want 'em," Arthur whined, pressing closer. "I wanna dance with you 'cause you're my friend!"

Well. That was remarkably... sweet. Alfred felt his face heat up further, and he nodded reluctantly. "Alright then." Alfred could have sworn Arthur let out a tiny _yay_ of happiness, but he decided not to comment and concentrated instead on trying to dance properly.

"You're so _stiff!_" Arthur complained. "You shouldn't be. You should be like... like..." He floundered for a moment, trying to find the right word, then he grinned and rolled his hips against Alfred's. "That!"

Alfred let out a (very manly, he would insist later) squeak. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Okay," Arthur acquiesced quickly, smiling up at him. "Dance!"

Alfred laughed; even when drunk, Arthur still had some of his customary arrogance, and was ordering people around like some rich tourist. Which he probably was, Alfred thought upon reflection- maybe he wasn't as sober as he thought either. "Weren't you gonna prove you were better than that belly dancer earlier?" he asked, a poor attempt to get himself out of actually dancing. Evidently, however, it worked.

"Oh, right. Stay there," Arthur commanded, then he pushed through the crowd to find the DJ, leaving Alfred there stranded in the sea of people. It didn't seem to take him long to find him- the track abruptly switched to a sort of Egyptian-sounding pop song that Alfred couldn't for the life of him understand, but it was upbeat and fast and he found himself swaying along anyway. He kept an eye out for Arthur- hard to do through the shadows and the strobe lights, though he managed to spot Janet and waved before she was engulfed in darkness again. It wasn't too long before a sandy blond head poked its way between the shoulders of two dancers, and Arthur emerged from the shadows with a bright smile on his face.

"Not the right music, but it'll do," he said, smirking lopsidedly. "Get ready for the show of your life."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Alfred shot back with a grin.

Arthur didn't answer, but raised his arms to his sides, seemingly waiting for something, a cue from the music perhaps. There was nothing for a few moments, enough to make Alfred come down a little from the adrenaline high and wonder just what they were doing standing stock-still in the middle of the floor.

Then the music changed pace, and Arthur began to dance.

_Oh my God,_ Alfred thought. _He wasn't lying when he said he was a belly dancer. Shit._

Arthur had his hands in the air, pale skin tinted pink and green and blue by the laser lights, eyes glassy as he threw his head back and danced. His hips rolled and swivelled impossibly fast- _damn hot,_ Alfred thought before he could catch himself- and he was soaked in sweat, neon-tinted droplets flying from his hair as he moved. He jerked his hips up once, and the hem of his shirt lifted until Alfred could see part of his tattoo, stark and black against his skin.

_Fuck._

People were gathering around to watch him again- he was undeniably the crowd favourite, and Alfred felt his cheeks grow warm at the idea that this dance was just for him. Arthur's movements were dizzying and almost sinful, flirty and playful as his chest and shoulders snapped into position and his wrists twirled in hypnotic circles. He had closed his eyes, but with a roll of his hips he slid them open to look at Alfred, a roguish, arrogant grin on his face, and Alfred felt he could explode right then and there.

It seemed, however, that there were a few people with less than holy intentions toward his friend, Alfred noticed, eyeing a certain group of girls with distrust. There were plenty of others staring without shame at Arthur, so Alfred took it upon himself to play the hero and grab his wrist mid-twirl, hauling him out of the spotlight. "Alright, I believe you- you're a pretty kickass belly dancer," he said good-naturedly while pushing people out of the way. "That was seriously cool."

"I know, right?" Arthur preened, hanging on to Alfred's shirt.

A glass was shoved into his hand. "You were really good back there, so I hope you don't mind I bought you a drink," a flamboyantly-dressed foreigner said, flashing him a smile.

"Oh thanks," Arthur said sincerely, throwing his head back and downing the drink in one go. "See Leo? That's how ya show apparition. Er- what's it? Appre-something."

"Appreciation?"

"Whatever, I don't care." Arthur laughed, his eyes sliding half-closed. "You should be more like that."

"Right, right," Alfred said distractedly, trying to get away from the crowd even as more people pressed around Arthur, shouting praises and asking for phone numbers. By the time they went down the staircase and reached the exit of the club, Arthur had already accepted three more drinks from various admirers and was on the verge of passing out.

He reached into his pocket- difficult with dead weight resting against his arm- to find only a few bills and a travel card. "Damn it," he cursed. It was hard to think as he made his way down the quay, not entirely sober and with a completely wasted man to take care of. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, only that he had to get to the nearest bus stop. "Where's your hotel?" he asked Arthur, hoping he wasn't too drunk to answer.

It took a while, but eventually Arthur spoke. "Raf- mmf," he mumbled into his shirt lazily, fingers going lax on the cloth.

"_Raf_, where the heck is that- Raffles? Raffles Hotel?" Alfred asked, thanking heaven for their guide professor.

Arthur moaned an agreement before his head lolled on Alfred's shoulder, not wanting to even hold it up.

"Okay, okay, we'll get you to Raffles," Alfred said in an attempt to be reassuring. But by the time he was able to scramble onto a bus, tap his card and drop a few coins in for Arthur's fare, his mind had already jumped to the next day, imagining facing Kiku's disappointed face. He slumped Arthur into a seat, sliding in beside him, and absently ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

"You taking me home?" Arthur asked, barely audible as he mumbled his words.

"Yup," Alfred said cheerfully. "Back to your hotel, that is."

"Yer a nice frien'," Arthur said, slurring his speech. "Good frien'. Don' leave me, 'kay? I've only got you an' Francis. Don' leave me."

And to Alfred's horror, his green eyes started filling with tears. "Oh shit, don't cry Artie! Please don't cry!" Arthur's lip trembled, and Alfred panicked, trying to figure out how to make him stop. "Um, um, don't cry, bunny," he said in an attempt to rile the other up instead, and to his surprise he received a wide grin.

"You're _funny_," he said, giggling and resting his head on Alfred's shoulder. "Funny bunny."

Alfred only sighed, glad that Arthur wasn't about to bawl in the middle of the bus, and rested an arm around his shoulders. Arthur grabbed his other hand and took out a pen from God-knows-where, writing down shaky digits that Alfred could only guess to be his mobile number, before passing out.

Well that was interesting.

By the time the door swung open, the room was already dark, save for a reading light by a chair in which Francis was sprawled, snoring softly. Alfred made to lay Arthur on the nearest bed without a sound, returning the card-key to the bedside table, but he banged his knee against the bedframe and cursed, waking the other occupant of the room in the process.

"Arthur?" Francis asked blearily, rubbing his eyes. "What time is- oh. Leonard."

Alfred could feel the temperature in the room drop as calculating blue eyes ran over him and the figure in his arms, and he shivered. "Heya Francis," he greeted in a whisper. "Just getting Artie back home."

"What happened?" Francis demanded, moving to help him lift Arthur onto the bed.

"He'll just have a heck of a hangover in the morning," Alfred answered, unbuttoning the top of Arthur's shirt to let him breathe properly. He hesitated, his fingers lingering a little on the smooth skin. "I got him a bit drunk, he went _wild_, and passed out on the bus on the way back."

There was a long silence, and Alfred wanted nothing more than to leave, but his conscience wouldn't let him do that. When Francis finally spoke, his voice was cold and hard. "I don't trust you, Mr. Andrews," he said bluntly, not deigning to look at him. "You don't seem like the honest type. God only knows why he is friends with you."

Alfred cringed. "Yeah, I'm sorry-"

"Do you have any idea how much this man is worth, Mr. Andrews?" Francis interrupted, his tone tight. "More than you can imagine, much, much more, and that is only in material terms. Yet he chooses to spend his valuable time on you. Obviously he sees something in you." He paused for a moment, as if struggling with the right words. His hand was fisted in the sleeve of Arthur's shirt. "Do not fail him," he said finally, sighing.

"I won't," Alfred said with conviction. "I promise I won't."

Francis stayed silent, and Alfred turned to leave the room, but he was stopped. "Thank you," Francis said. "For bringing him back, at least."

Alfred didn't answer, stepping out into the corridor. Now that the excitement of the day was done, he only felt a deep exhaustion, and he blinked to stay awake. He had to get to back to Kiku and their dorm room over at the Nanyang Technological University. It was a long journey even by train, and he had to make sure he didn't fall asleep.

_Still,_ he thought to himself, grinning widely and looking at the numbers on his arm. _It was totally worth it._

_

* * *

_**A/N: **Alright, so a few quick disclaimers. :D I do not own the Jim Thompson restaurant, NTU, Raffles Hotel, Clarke Quay, Attica (the club), Clmado (the Turkish ice cream stall), the tattoo place, the bungee rides, etc. They were extensively researched a.k.a. I WENT ALL THE WAY TO CLARKE QUAY JUST TO TRY THEM ALL OUT MYSELF 8D Except of course the bungee because I'm deathly afraid of heights, and the club because it's just not my thing. I watched people scream on the ride and I researched the interior of Attica (and Attica Too, the upstairs) though, so it's pretty much accurate.

ARTWORK: not a fanart, but it's belly dancer Iggy on the US/UK paint chat by **White Mizerable **also known as **arakni**, featuring other sexy things by **hinatasakura **and shameless ogling by yours truly: http :/ s61 .photobucket .com /albums /h53 /astronobish /USUK /?action =view¤t; =pchat _capture3 .png

**I completely forgot to put this video in. **http :/ /www. youtube .com /watch ?v=zEFBK5ra4lU &feature=related It's like, belly dancer Iggy in real life!

A video of the swingy thing- it's not in Clarke Quay but it's the same structure. http :/ www .youtube .com /watch? v=-gqpknGtn6w

The song used in the dance bit was by Christina Aguilera, specifically Genie 2.0, the remix of her old song Genie in a Bottle. Here is a video. http :/ www .youtube .com /watch? v=wdBW0Kl9fHE

The Egyptian pop song I put in is one of my absolute favourites, Ya Habibi by Hisham Abbas and a Turkish singer that I haven't found the name of (I think it's Safiya or Safiye, however). It isn't for belly dancing, especially not the Turkish style that Arthur does, but I love it anyway. Here's a video. http :/ www .youtube .com /watch? v=ODPAuRGk41A

Also, totally unrelated to this fic: my dear friend Ellarose C made a fanfic of my fanfic- Clutching Rhythm, His: a fanfic set in my Racist Dragon universe, fully From the Lair-compatible. It's brilliant, go read it here! http :/ www .fanfiction .net /s /6203090 /1 /Clutching_Rhythm_His

So I dearly hope that you guys will still stick with me through the sporadic updates; wish me luck in Iggy's boarding school hehehe. XD I'll try and find a way to keep in touch with the fandom, promise!


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